


Winged Cupid is Painted Blind

by J_Wolfe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta junk, Angst, BAMF Stiles, But for real: Angst for days, Canon Divergent, FYI I have no clue where I'm going with this story, Magic Stiles, Multi, Non-wolf trio bonding, Post 3a, Protective Derek, Slow Build, So Bear With me, The Darkness - Freeform, There's really a lot of angst, fairies and goblins and whatever else you can think of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Wolfe/pseuds/J_Wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Pack faces an impending storm of doom as the Nemeton's power draws creatures to Beacon Hills. Derek and Cora return. Stiles ups his magic game. Pack dynamics shift all over the place. Three-way side pairings out the yin-yang apparently. There's most definitely going to be cuddling. Stuff will go down.<br/>Oh, and eventually Stiles and Derek fall in love. Shocker, right?<br/>I honestly can't be sure where this is all going, but stick around for updates!</p><p>(<em>BTW, the title is a line from A Midsummer Night's Dream</em>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Darkness and Into the Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my beta reader Cami for giving me feedback and helping fix my ridiculous spelling errors. If there's anything still in there, it's my bad.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself for the angst. It's actually the very worst in this chapter. Things will get better. Maybe.

_The shadows are closing in. It feels sort of like drowning, but different somehow. Almost like a panic attack, but it's strangely calm and, almost... relieving. There's a sense of resignation to the inevitable: a sense that there's no use fighting it and he might as well just let it take him. The darkness creeps up around his neck and starts to pour into his mouth. It fills him with emptiness._  
  
The darkness leaves his eyes for last, seemingly trying to avoid them. But, it comes time for it to engulf him completely and it has no choice. Dark fringes creep around the corners, the snow white flesh becoming a part of the void.  
  
At the last moment, when all that's left are the green-flecked, hollowed, amber rings of life, the darkness is stung away. Light pours from his eyes like some sort of faucet, forcing the darkness away.  
  
He tries to grab it, pull the shroud of thick, dark nothingness back around him; but it flees, recoiling against something inside of him.  
  
He cries out for it to return, to bring back the soothing numbness. But it's far gone. He's surrounded by a sea of multicolored swirls. It looks like he imagines the universe does outside of the galaxy. It's bright, not as bright as his own light, but bright all the same. And it's cold, harshly so. And, despite his sensing, knowing that he is not, he feels utterly alone.  
  
Stiles jolts back to reality from where he lies, curled in the fetal position on the floor if his bedroom next his desk. Dripping with a cold sweat, he takes gasping breaths, trying to ease the burning sensation in his lungs.  
  
After he regains enough of his composure to not be a puddle on the floor, he drags himself up and looks intensely toward the clock on his nightstand. 2:43am. Last time he checked it, he was sitting in the chair next to him now, staring blankly at his physics textbook and wondering how passing his test in the morning could possibly be on his priorities list when there is so much other, much more drastic stuff going on. Then, the time had read: 1:13am.  
  
It's been going like this for some time now. Ever since the whole recharge-the-magic-stump-by-sacrificing-their-lives-for-their-parents thing. Stiles isn't surprised. Not really. Deaton said that there would be side effects. He said that dying like that and coming back brought a sort of darkness around their hearts. But, he didn't really understand what Deaton had meant. The darkness he feels doesn’t feel like some outside force. It's not the shadow that shrouds him and abandons him in his dreams whenever he accidentally falls asleep. The darkness is a desire. It's the want, the longing press on his will that Stiles feels. He wants that darkness to come back. He wants to stop trying to fight it off. He doesn't want to worry about anything anymore. He doesn't want to see how his dad looks at him now, proud but so worried. He doesn't want to look at the people in school and see how blissfully unaware they are of all the danger in the world. He doesn't want to look at Scott and Allison, see that same want lingering over them: a part of them. He doesn't want to face the world. He wants the numbing void that filled him up, still does in his dreams.  
  
He wants to die.  
  
.oOo.  
  
"So..." Isaac draws out. He's been avoiding the actual question for some time now. But, inevitably, he had to ask. "With Derek gone and you having... ascended the ranks, I guess..." They're sitting at the lunch table: Scott, Allison, Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac. It seems so empty. It has for a while, really. Erica and Boyd are gone, so is Jackson, but in a different way. It's just the five of them now. Scott looks expectantly at the other werewolf and Isaac shifts uncomfortably, preparing to spit it out. "Are you my Alpha now?"  
  
Scott puts his fork down gently on his lunch tray. Considering, he responds sincerely, "I don't know. Does it feel like I am?"  
  
Isaac looks more uncomfortable now. Stiles' mood sinks a little, not that it had far to go, because Isaac had been doing so well. He was adjusting to social structures. He was even cracking jokes. And now. Now he's right back where he was: abandoned and feeling worthless. Sure, he and Allison have been hanging out. Stiles isn't blind, though Scott may be. He can see that there's some sort of spark there. He's sure it won't last long though. There's too much between Scott and Allison. Isaac will find someone.  
  
"It..." Isaac starts, trying to feel out the right answer. "It doesn't exactly feel like it did with Derek," he explains. "But, then again, it's not like a connection to other Betas. It's stronger. I'm just not sure if it's you being my Alpha or you being my friend."  
  
Lydia blows swiftly through her nose, clearly not entertained by the conversation. "Do you have some input, Lydia?" Scott asks harshly, turning away from the contemplative Beta.  
  
She gives him an only vaguely derisive look before she speaks, "Nothing in particular. It's just: Don't you think that it's all a bit depressing? Two of the old pack are dead, two have gone AWOL, Jackson's in London, and now there's just five of us, not necessarily counting Ethan and Aiden. Plus, three of you died and came back to life while the other two of us and Scott's weird Druid vet boss held you under. After all of that, are we really concerned with how much Scott feels like an Alpha? He's seventeen, all of us are. I'm not saying we're not mature. I mean, we've all got battle scars and we know how life is. Aren't we just a tad young and unprepared for what Deaton tells us is coming?"  
  
The group just sits in silence for a bit, mulling over what's been said. "She's right," Stiles says, sounding uncharacteristically defeated. The group looks at him, not shocked by his strange new outlook, but not encouraged by his words either. "We don't know what we're going to be up against and I don't think we're strong enough to face anything right now. But, what do we do to prepare?" He can feel the darkness in his chest build as he looks around the table.  
  
Lydia's face contorts a bit. "Wait: We're just giving up?" Stiles looks at her blankly as she stares him down. " ** _You_** are giving up?" she pauses for dramatic effect, pointing a finger at Stiles and raising her voice, though not loud enough to draw attention in the lunch room. "You've been chasing after me for years, with _zero_ chance of getting anywhere. You never give up! What's going on around here? What about Ethan and Aiden? They can help us. And Deaton. And the less crazy side of Allison's family. And really, someone has got to call Derek and get his furry ass back here. Who does he think he is gallivanting off like that? Psssh." Lydia takes a vicious bite of her apple to conclude her little tirade, looking elsewhere while the group recovers from collective shock at her outburst.  
  
"Uh. Yeah. Ok," Stiles fumbles, not sure exactly how to respond. He doesn't really notice, but the darkness is pulling back. Just a little.


	2. Afterschool Parnorml Activities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the Human[ish] Trio! How I adore them.

"How are we going to find him? And, even if we do, how much help is he going to be if he isn't even an Alpha anymore?" Allison's asking too many questions as she and Stiles walk down the halls to physics.

"Don't worry about finding him. I put a tracker in his jacket before they left so I could find him." Allison gives him a sideways glance, questioning what exactly his motives for that might have been. "Shut up. I may be slightly paranoid and excessively on the plan ahead wagon, but it's how I survive in this screwed up were-world." She shrugs her shoulders in response, so he continues, "Anyways, the non-Alpha situation shouldn't be that big of a deal. He's always kind of been a badass, so I'm sure he'll be an asset."

"Okay. Just let me know what I can do to help," she says weakly, heart not really in it.

"Actually," he says quietly as they sit down next to each other in the small science classroom, "there is something you could do."

.oOo.

"I swear to God, Stiles, if this dress gets ruined, you're buying me a new one. A better one." Lydia is clutching her heels in one hand as she walks through the detritus in the Beacon Hills Preserve. Stiles and Allison are ahead of her, the other girl with her bow and quiver slung across her back. Stile has a backpack with a few supplies and they dragged Lydia out so that the three of them, the three non-wolves of their very small pack, can train to protect themselves.

Allison stops, turning to look with mild exhaustion on her struggling friend. "Lydia, I know you're immune to the bite and most of the other supernatural mojo out there, but you could still be physically harmed. You should really consider dressing more appropriately." Lydia glares up at her, a bit betrayed and clearly not wanting to change her wardrobe choices. "Or at least carry more sensible footwear for running around the woods in your purse."

Stiles smirks and Lydia smacks him on the back of the head, passing him. "I think this is probably good. Allison?" he says as he surveys the small clearing they've entered. She nods and moves to some trees to hang some targets she'd had in one of her many pockets. He drops his bag and opens it, pulling out a small leather pouch.

"What's that?" Lydia asks, approaching him after having rubbed at her probably sore feet.

"Mountain ash," he says, tossing her the bag. "I need to teach you two to make circles with it. I'm not completely sure whether you can, but we need to at least rule it out as a means of safety. Deaton says that it repels most supernatural creatures. At least, the quote on quote evil ones, like werewolves and kanima."

"But..." Lydia trails, looking pensive. "Won't it repel me? I mean, I look like an angel," she gestures to herself as she poses a little, "but let's not forget that I actually am a banshee."

"From what I've read, banshee aren't considered evil. They're not even really considered creatures, and if they were, they'd probably be considered more neutral. They're humans who wail for the deaths about to come. It's actually kind of nice. You grieve for everyone who dies at the hands of the supernatural."

"Huh, yeah," Lydia mutters under her breath. "Nice is not the word I would use to describe it."

"Okay," Allison calls, walking back over to the pair. "Shall we?" She gestures to her bow and Lydia steps forward begrudgingly. "So, you'll want to nock the arrow and then draw the string." Lydia does as she's instructed, easily drawing the string back next to her cheek as she's seen it done before. "That's actually really impressive. This bow has a pretty high draw weight." Allison is decently surprised, but Lydia responds with a shrug before firing towards the nearest target. She sticks the arrow into the tree about three inches to the left of the target and Allison nods in approval.

Allison takes the bow from Lydia, pulls out another arrow, and holds them out toward Stiles. "Um, actually," Stiles says, reaching into his bag, "I'd much rather use this, if you don't mind." He pulls a compact 9mm Glock pistol, pitch black frame and polished steel slide, out of his bag, consciously pointing it into the trees away from the girls.

Allison has a mildly conflicted expression as she looks at the gun. "I'd really rather you use the bow. Only the less tactical hunters use firearms. They’re loud and not significantly better unless you're at really long range. Besides, unless your bullets are laced with the right poison, they don't cause lasting injury." Allison gives a sort of apologetic look and holds the bow out again, a tad more forcefully.

"Okay, I'll try your way first," Stiles sighs, gently putting the gun on his bag and getting up to take a turn with the bow. He takes it from Allison, quickly nocking the arrow and letting out a long breath with the weapon and his head lowered. He draws the string back near his cheek, but his arms are shaking slightly with the effort and the bowstring is gouging into the pads of his first three fingers. He aims as best he can in the second before he releases the string and the arrow goes sailing past the tree, a foot or two off from the mark.

"Huh," Lydia remarks snidely from off to the side. Stiles looks embarrassedly back at her while Allison shoots her a quick glare.

"It's fine, Stiles," the black clad girl says, stepping forward and placing a maternal hand on his shoulder. "Most people do worse on the first try."

"Yeah," he breathes, still a bit defeated. "But neither of you had any trouble dealing with the draw weight. How am I the weak one here? I mean, I figured you might be hiding some crazy hunter strength, but Lydia? Where do you two even keep the muscle?"

Lydia shrugs, checking her manicure and tucking her hair behind one ear. "I guess you're just the wimp of our little human triad."

"Lydia," Allison bites as she whips her head to meet the redhead's gaze. She pats Stiles on the shoulder turning back to face him, "Maybe you should try the pistol. Where'd you get it, anyway?"

"My dad got it for me," he spits out, a bit sourly. "After he figured everything out, he was worried about my safety. Which, I mean, it should make me feel better, safer. But, I'm just even more on edge than I was before. Because, now, it's not just me in real danger. It's him, too. And I'm just not sure that I know enough to keep us both safe. Besides, our group is so small now. It doesn't feel as safe as it did before, and it didn't even really feel safe then. It's just... Ugh." Stiles barely noticed that in the time it took him to finish the rant, he'd gone over to his backpack, picked up the gun, done all of the safety checks, put in a clip, and walked back to the designated shooting spot.

"Okay," Allison says, not really saying it in response to anything in particular, just acknowledging how Stiles feels. "Ready?" He nods and pulls the slide back, loading the first round. He raises it, stance ready, hands both on the relatively small handgun in the standard grip. Just as he thinks to pull the trigger, he remembers.

"Hold on," he says, putting the gun on safety and slowly setting it down. He heads back to his bag, both of the girls giving him confused looks. He pulls out three sets of earplugs, handing a pair to Lydia and Allison as he walks back. Allison gives him an understanding nod, but he explains for Lydia's sake, "It's going to be louder than you think." He puts his own earplugs in, picking up the gun and getting back in the stance his dad taught him a year after his mom died. He takes a calming breath, looks down the sights, and makes a calibrating shot at one of the targets. He misses the target by about a half inch to the right and he can vaguely hear Lydia making a comment before he takes a breath and cuts her off with five quick shots, each one hitting almost dead center on the targets hanging about in front of him.

He clicks the gun on safety, pulls the slide back to empty the chamber, and removes the clip. Turning around, he sees Allison's impressed eyebrow arch and Lydia is actively trying to not show any sort of reaction to his hidden talent. "So," Allison says, breaking the silence as she pulls out her earplugs and Stiles does the same. "When did you become a Glock marksmen?"

"Well," he responds, perhaps a bit sheepishly, "when your dad's the sheriff and he leaves you at home alone all the time, he tends to teach you about handguns. Not that he'd ever let me anywhere near one outside the range until now."

"Still," Lydia says, stepping up to them, "we probably could've used some of that shooting ability dealing with all the craziness these last eighteen months."

Allison gives Lydia another look, but then has an inquisitive expression as she turns back to him. "Look," he defends, "I don't want to actually kill anyone. I never have wanted to, except maybe Ms. Blake when she took my dad. Which is kind of exactly the point. I'm only readjusting myself to using a gun because my dad is in actual danger now, and I have to have every means possible to protect him. Not to mention that, according to Deaton, there's a storm of big bads coming to Beacon Hills anytime now, so I'll have to pull more offensive and defensive weight in our rapidly dwindling group." The girls nod and there's a moment of silence, obviously making Lydia uncomfortable. Well, maybe not 'obviously,' but Stiles knows all of her mannerisms and micro-expressions. "Speaking of all means possible," he steps back to his bag, putting the gun away and pulling out a few small leather pouches, "you two need to learn some rudimentary magic."

"Stiles," Allison says, catching one of the bags he throws her, "I've been reading the books my family has on, well, pretty much everything, and it sounds like the majority of people can't do magic. I know that you've worked a little with Deaton-"

"Yeah," Stiles admits, "not as much as you think. He won't really tell me much. But, one thing he did say is that mountain ash lines can be constructed by anyone. The trick will be whether or not you two can pull the ring out with just a pinch of the dust."

"What do you mean?" Allison asks, face quirked slightly in confusion.

"It's probably better if I just demonstrate." The girls move together and Stiles steps back a few paces, taking just a pinch of the mountain ash ash (they need a simpler name) out of the leather pouch. "Watch closely." He closes his eyes to focus and, after a moment, quickly tosses the grey powder straight up into the air. It reaches an apex and bursts apart, glowing a very faint purple and landing around him in a perfect circle.

The girls give him impressed, but maybe vaguely concerned looks. "Stiles," Lydia says, voice a tad solemn, "you just broke physics. How are we supposed to take a little bit of dust and turn it into an eight foot ring? What about conservation of matter?"

"You're thinking too much," he defends. "It's magic. Get over it. Just do it." Lydia contorts her face, and, although Allison looks like she's ready to just go with it, she still looks a little disbelieving, which completely defeats the purpose. "Look, we don't have much of ther pixie dust," yep, that's what he's going to call it, "so we have to use it sparingly. But, none of the werewolves can do it, and I don't want to be the only one who can set these up. So," he points to the bags the girls are holding to prompt them. Lydia rolls her eyes, actually her whole head, but she opens the bag and reaches in. Allison follows suit. "Good, now: the key to doing this right is belief. I still don't totally understand how it works, but I know that whatever has to happen can't unless you truly believe it can. You both just saw me do it, so you know it's possible. This sounds incredible cliché, but you just have to believe in yourselves."

Lydia gives a throw caution to the wind look and breathes a deep breath before throwing the powder in the air and having it come abruptly, and rather anticlimactically, back onto her only mildly tousled red curls. She breathes a frustrated breath and the other two hold back the giggles, which neither of them has had to do for a couple weeks. Allison collects herself and throws the powder up. It lingers for a moment, Stiles can sense the presence of the magic, but the dust floats back down without order, not having formed a circle. "This is pointless," Lydia says, and Allison seems to agree, brushing dust from her hair.

"No, no," Stiles says, stepping forward and shaking his hand. "Allison almost had it. I could... feel the magic or something." Allison lights up a bit at her almost success, but Lydia just gives him a lilted glare. "Okay," Stiles allows, "Lydia, you pretty much did nothing, and it's possible that your immunity is affecting it. But, you're also really fighting the belief, I can tell. At least try a few more times. And really try to believe." The stress in his words makes Stiles feel like a kindergarten teacher and a hippie occult leader at the same time.

The girls go another round, Lydia throwing up a pinch of dust and having it fall back on her head, and Allison actually managing to generate a small circle, though it's barely wide enough to stand in. "See," he says, gesturing to Allison's feet, "progress." Lydia gives him another little glare, and he rethinks his strategy. "Okay, Allison, keep working on the size of your ring. Lydia," he moves toward the long-time object of his affection, "let's try to have you make a ring without breaking physics." He smiles at her smirk and kneels down. She follows and he motions to her bag. "Make a small circle and believe that it will protect everything inside."

She inhales deeply, pulling out a small handful of powder and let's it slip from her hand to make a really quite round circle on the forest floor. She closes her eyes and is clearly intently focused on the belief. "Well?" she asks, raising her eyes to meet Stiles'. "Did it work?"

He places a hand over the circle, trying to sense the magic. If it had worked, he probably could feel it from further away, but there's really nothing there. "Huh," he grunts.

"I'll take that as a no," she sighs. It's the sigh that Stiles knows is meant to convey boredom, even though she's a bit disappointed with herself.

"Yeah. I mean, no. You're right, it didn't work but," he tries to make sense of a few things in his head, figuring that if what he's assuming is true, it may actually benefit the pack's defenses, "I want to try something else." Lydia shrugs and he closes his eyes. He inhales through his nose and breathes power into the circle. He can feel it, like a sort if warm vibration beneath his palm. "Okay, I made it into an actually working ring. Wave your hand over it." Lydia, trying to appear put upon by rolling her eyes, does as she's told. The ring continues to buzz, but it's like where Lydia puts her hand between it and Stiles, he can't sense it. "Huh," he contemplates. "Try touching it." Lydia sighs audibly, but hesitates just slightly before touching the ring on the ground. The warm buzz cuts out immediately at contact.

Stiles must have a pensive expression on his face, because after she lets out a little relieved sigh, Lydia snaps at him, "What's so interesting?"

"Well," he says, vaguely noticing that Allison has come over to join them, "apparently you're like a magic wet blanket." He thinks it's an apt description, but he knows the girls will ask for more, so he continues. "As soon as you came into contact with the ring, all of the, for lack of a better term and because I like saying it to bug you, magic got drained out. Also, when you're between it and me, I can't sense it. I'm not sure if it's the banshee thing in particular or your general immunity. Of course," he's getting into ramble territory now, "we're not exactly sure that the two are mutually exclusive. In fact, your immunity may stem from the possibility that you're actually dead. Or rather, have been dead. See, banshee, or 'weeping women,' are generally thought of as spirits who mourn for those who die awful deaths. And, generally, you do have to die to be a spirit. But, legend could totally have that misinterpreted. Let's not forget that the bite can kill, so you very well may have died and then returned to life with immunities. That could also explain the connection to Peter since he's the one that-" Allison smacks him in the chest with the back of her hand and he snaps back to reality. Lydia has her strong but not pleased face on and Stiles feels like a massive dickhead. "Lydia... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. But, uh," he rubs a hand through the hair on the back of his head, awkwardly trying to recover. "Immunity to magic, huh? That has some distinct tactical advantages."

Allison shakes her head at him, but Lydia just smacks him on the back of the head as she passes, headed back the way they came. "Come on. I'm done for the day. Don't forget your backpack, idiot," she calls, swinging her heels back and forth as she goes. Allison slings her bow over her shoulder and gives Stiles a you deserve it and so much more smirk as she passes and he hurries to pack everything back in his bag, checking the gun one more time. He zips it up quickly and bounds down the hill after the girls.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite Broody McSourwolf returns from his post Darach excursion.

Stiles rolls up the driveway to park next to his dad's cruiser. He wasn't sure how late his dad was going to work, which generally would mean that he'd be at the station until the wee hours of the morning. But, apparently not today, because he's already home. And, it's nine o'clock, which isn't past Stiles' "curfew", but it is late. "Hey, Dad," Stiles chimes, entering the house and seeing his dad sitting in the kitchen with a pile of papers and a cup of what he hopes is coffee. "What are you doin'?" he inquires, trying to get a look at the papers.  
  
His father just gives an exhausted sigh and rustles a few papers. "You know," the sheriff starts, "everything that's been going on for the last year and a half makes so much more sense now that I'm in the loop on this supernatural stuff. Don't get me wrong," he picks up his coffee and looks pointedly at Stiles, "none of this actually makes sense. But, I know who did what and I have at least some notion of why, so that sates my investigative qualms, at least."  
  
Stiles plops down in the chair across from his father. "It's a lot to process," he sympathizes. He hasn't told his dad about the replacement sacrifices or his mild dip into the practice of magic yet. He doesn't want to put too much on his dad's plate. At least not for the time being. "Have you eaten yet?" His father shakes his head, taking a drink of his coffee and looking over a few more of the old case files. "Want me to make something?"  
  
"No, that's fine. I'll just eat a snack and have a big breakfast in the morning."  
  
"Yeah," Stiles mocks. "We both know that means you'll eat the cookies you've hidden somewhere in here tonight and then you'll sneak two more donuts in the morning while I'm at school." His dad puts his hands up in defense, but Stiles shakes a finger at him. "I talked to Michelle. Don't think I don't have spies in the department." The sheriff looks betrayed, mocking shock with a hand over his chest and a halfhearted gasp. "I'll make veggie stir-fry."  
  
.oOo.  
  
He lies awake in his bed. It's well past two in the morning and his dad is long since asleep. The only light in the room is from his laptop screen at his desk. He's fully clothed and laying on top of his covers because he whole-heartedly does not want to sleep. If he sleeps he dreams, and that's not something he wants right now.  
  
His laptop beeps a few times, alerting him to a change in the status of his GPS tracking system. He rolls off of the bed and flops down in his desk chair.  
  
 **\-- GPS tagname "DH"... located**  
 **\-- coordinates: 44.0519N 122.4032W**  
 **\-- message? (Y/N): _**  
  
He had Danny help him with the system based on the notion that he was getting into electronics and coding. And, maybe with a vague implication that he could tutor Danny into a better grade in calculus. Admittedly, Lydia is number one in the class, but Stiles has always been the close second. Well, intelligence-wise. His grades may not always be the best, but hey, he's got other problems. In any case, Danny was having a hard time in calc, Stiles needed a GPS system. And now he knows where Derek is.  
  
The other thing that's in the code is a messaging system. It was tricky, but he and Danny figured a way to find cells within the tower range of a located signal and then send a message to all phones within a ten yard radius of the signal.  
  
Stiles starts typing:

  
 **\-- message? (Y/N): y  
\-- type message: "we need to talk. come home. --SS"  
\-- message sent...  
\-- end program? (Y/N): y**  
  
.oOo.  
  
Lying on the soft comforters, he listens to the sounds outside. He hears a few deer nestled into their beds of grass, breathing evenly. The stream about a half-mile over babbles softly over the rocks. The trees rustle softly in the breeze. The forest is sleeping, and he should be too, but the news he got from the Greater Olympic Pack wasn't great. He'd hoped that they could take Cora and him in. There's no way they were staying in Beacon Hills. Not with the Nemeton recharged and countless creatures, far darker than what they'd experienced up until now, being drawn there.  
  
"Who's 'SS'?" Cora asks, pulling his senses back into the cabin. She's holding their burner phone. It must've gone off and woke her while he was roaming the forest with his ears.  
  
"How should I know?" The only person who has the number is the Alpha of the Olympia Pack, Jared Mason. "What does it say?" he asks getting up and walking over to the table.  
  
"'We need to talk. Come home.' Signed, SS," she reads, turning the phone as he reaches her so he can read it for himself. Derek sighs, running a hand down his face as he comes to a realization. "What?" Cora asks. "Who is it?"  
  
Derek grabs his coat and his duffle bag, motions for her to get her bag and follow, simply grumbling, "Stiles."  
  
.oOo.  
  
Stiles wakes from the same awful dream after about an hour of sleep. Seeing that it's about 7:30, he gets up quickly and changes his shirt, not bothering with the jeans. He goes out to find his dad already gone and runs downstairs, climbing up on the countertop and reaching behind a bunch of canned food in one of the cupboards to grab a pop-tart. He shoves it in his mouth on the way back up to his room to grab his backpack. When he opens the door to his room, the food falls from his mouth as he stumbles backwards into the hallway with a small shriek.  
  
Derek finishes climbing through the window as he glares at Stiles, "Stop being such a baby. _You_ called _me_."  
  
Stiles regains his composure and shoots a piercing glare. "There are such things as doors, Derek. Oh, hi, Cora." The younger wolf gives a little wave as she climbs in the window behind her brother.  
  
"Whatever," Derek chides from the seat he's taken on Stiles' bed. "Why did you call me? Actually, more important, how did you call me?"  
  
Stiles moves his eyes away from the bottom corner of Derek's jacket as quickly as they went there, "That's none of your business," he responds in his standard I-don't-care-that-you're-the-Alpha-Derek voice, even though, technically, Derek actually _isn't_ the Alpha anymore. Derek gives him a look, takes a look at his jacket, and allows Stiles to continue. He'll figure it out later. He actually wants to know why Stiles called him here. "Ok, so, there's bad things moving in on Beacon Hills. You know that."  
  
"Yes," Derek says mockingly. "In fact, _that_ 's why I took my sister and left."  
  
Stiles levels a glare at him and keeps going. "The pack isn't strong enough. It's just Scott, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, and me now. Really just Scott and Isaac. And Isaac doesn't even really feel like Scott's his Alpha. We might get the twins in with us because of Lydia, but we don't really know. Deaton's not really that much help, and the hunters probably won't help us, at least not most of them." Derek just gives him a level, blank stare. "We need you back, Derek. And trust me, it actually causes me physical pain to admit it. Honestly, I don't even think Scott has what it takes to be the Alpha."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Derek asks sincerely, completely confused and making it sound like Stiles is saying the sky is green. "He's a True Alpha. He's inherently qualified to be a great Alpha."  
  
"See, I don't think he is," Stiles wags a finger to make his point. "The universe thinks Scott is all inspirational and great at leading people, but the universe is stupid. I've known Scott way longer than the universe, so it should just shut its fat mouth. I love him, and he'd be a great Alpha if he just had to do the whole pack bonding and familial ties junk, but that's not what the world is about to ask of him. The Alpha is going to need to be able to kill, it's simple as that. There are bad things coming and he won't be able to handle it. We need **you**."  
  
Derek inhales sharp and long, clenching his jaw. Cora steps forward from where she stood next to the window. Placing a hand on Derek's shoulder, she pulls his eyes to hers. "I know we left because you want to protect me, but we need to protect _them_ , too. We need to protect our _home_. The fire took the building, but it didn't change the fact that _this_ is my home. We're staying." It's directed at Stiles as much as Derek.  
  
"Fine," Derek grits out.  
  
"Great," Stiles says quickly, not wanting the moment of things going his way to slip away. "I'm assuming you'll need a place to stay. We have a guest bedroom here if you want. My dad's not home that often anyway and, since the whole were-revelation, I don't think he hates you as much."  
  
Derek opens his mouth to protest, but Cora speaks over him, "We'd love to stay here," she smiles. Derek glares at her, but nods in agreement. It’s really annoying that he can’t just Alpha over his sister’s interruptions anymore.  
  
"Cool. Well, I have to get to school. I don't think my dad would be happy if I missed another day. Not that I've missed many: he just doesn't want me making a habit of it."  
  
Derek nods, "Cora, go get our bags. I need to talk to Stiles. Don't listen." Cora slumps her shoulders in protest but turns and pops out the window.  
  
"Seriously," Stiles breathes, shaking his head as she goes. "Do werewolves just not get doors? Or is it just a Hale thing?"  
  
"Shut up," Derek deadpans. "My sister is the last bit of family I have. I will **not** let her get hurt. I'll put her above everyone else. We're only staying because she wants to, and I can't force her to go with me. Do you understand?"  
  
Stiles nods. And he really does understand. Having just that one piece left. Sure, he's got Scott, even Mrs. McCall. But, that's not the same. He'd do anything for his dad. "Seriously though, dude," Stiles says, picking up his dropped food and shoving it back in his mouth. "I have to get to school."  
  
Derek nods and Stiles grabs his bag and bounces down the stairs. "Don't break anything!" he calls when he gets to the front door. "And try not to be here until dinner. I'll explain to my dad and make sure he doesn't shoot you!" He opens the door and almost runs into Cora. "Ah," he says, his voice somewhere between shock and realization. "So it's just a Derek thing."  
  
She gives him a weird look, but he just nods, runs over to his Jeep, fresh out of the shop for the billionth time, and squeals out of the drive.  
  
.oOo.  
  
"So..." Stiles starts as the group sits down for lunch. "Derek's back in town." There's a collective gaping mouth when he looks up from the peas on his tray. "Cora, too. Looks like our group's back up to seven."  
  
"Nine, actually," Lydia chimes, and everyone's eyes move to her. "I talked to Aiden and he and Ethan are in. They'll defer to Scott. They don't really want to be Alphas anyway. Not anymore."  
  
"Well," Isaac says, clearing his throat. "Today's starting to look up." There's a collective sigh and a few small laughs in agreement.  
  
"I will say though," Stiles adds, "it's a little sad that us non-wolves are back in the minority. Am I right, Squishy Triad?" He looks at the girls, fist raised for a bump. They both look at him like he's a pariah. And he kind of is. "Fine," he moves his hand over to Scott, who fist bumps him purely out of best friend duty.  
  
"Where are they staying?" Allison asks Stiles, clearly talking about the Hales.  
  
"At my house," Stiles says as though it's nothing.  
  
"Dude," Scott chides. "Is your dad actually okay with that?"  
  
"Why wouldn't he be?" Stiles asks, partly trying to cover for himself and maybe trying to convince himself too.  
  
"You haven't told him yet," Allison states. "That's probably not the best plan, Stiles."  
  
Stiles shoves some applesauce nervously into his mouth. "It's a great plan."  
  
.oOo.  
  
It's not a great plan.  
  
The sheriff and Stiles are sitting at the kitchen table, eating some un-battered fish and salad. The sheriff is reading over some case files, nothing major, just a few petty robberies, while Stiles is staring at his dad and his food in turns. It is really hard to just spit this out.  
  
Eventually the sheriff makes eye contact with his son, and with an annoyed and knowing voice asks, "What?"  
  
"Huh, what? Me? What? No. Nothing," Stiles sputters some nonsense to defend his nerves.  
  
"Whatever." The sheriff goes back to his papers.  
  
After a few minutes, they hear the front door open and the sheriff looks up, confused. Derek walks into the kitchen, Cora in tow. "I'm not waiting anymore, Stiles," Derek gives a glare and then turns pleasant as he looks to the sheriff. "Good evening, sir. Would it be alright if my sister and I stayed here until I find another place? It'll probably be a week or so."  
  
"Sure," the sheriff says over his cup of coffee. After he takes a drink, he looks back up at the Hales. "I'm assuming those are your bags in the guest bedroom?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Derek responds deferentially.  
  
"And Stiles gave you permission to stay here without asking me first?" The sheriff's just drinking his coffee and reading some case files, not really giving the impression that it matters much, though they all know it does.  
  
"Yes, sir," Derek responds again, feeling both a small twinge if guilt and pleasure at having helped sell Stiles out. Stiles shakes his head slowly and glares at the traitor-wolf, betrayed and indignant.  
  
"You two hungry?" The sheriff asks, looking up from his reading.  
  
"No thank you, that's fine," Derek says. It's strange: he hasn't felt this sort of deference in quite some time. Maybe it's just what it's like to not be the Alpha.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," the sheriff says, kicking out one of the chairs between him and Stiles. "There's plenty of this fish stuff. Lord knows that I don't want to eat it and if you two finish what's left, I don't have to have leftovers on Monday." Derek swallows and nods, taking a seat as Cora follows and sits across the table from him. "Stiles," the sheriff says, "get our guests some plates."  
  
Stiles huffs mildly and makes two plates of the meal for the werewolves at his table. Setting a plate down, he makes a displeased face at Derek. Moving to Cora's side, she says quietly, "I told him to wait, but..." Stiles smiles and nods to her, conveying his mutual contempt for her brother’s general rash decision making. It makes Derek angrier than it should.  
  
.oOo.  
  
Dinner was awkward, but it wasn't completely terrible. Stiles and Cora kept bugging Derek by laughing under their breath at his mannerisms and stiff behavior around the sheriff. The reactions on Derek's face at the table were totally worth whatever his dad is going to throw at him for punishment. Although, it seems like his dad doesn't intend to do anything, which is either great or terrible.  
  
Stiles is washing the dishes while his dad and the Hales have gone upstairs to the bedrooms. He can feel someone looking at him, so he turns, hands sudsy and lifted so they won’t drip everywhere, just to see Derek standing in the doorway. There's a long moment of silent questioning before Stiles opens his mouth to actually ask if Derek wants something, only to be cut off by the ex-Alpha’s blunt, "I'm sorry."  
  
Stiles mentally, and physically, takes a step back. Wiping his hands on the dish towel, he regains some stability from his cognitive flail and asks a flat, "What?"  
  
Derek sighs, clearly put upon. "I'm sorry."  
  
"No, no," Stiles replies, "I caught that part. _Why_?"  
  
"Look, Cora's giving me the verbal cold shoulder, which wouldn't bother me, except that she's making it blatantly, annoyingly obvious. So," he pauses, putting his hands out for emphasis. "I'm sorry I barged in and probably got you in trouble. Even though it was your own fault in the first place for not consulting him first."  
  
"Okay," Stiles breathes. "Even though that was the worst apology -- if you can even call it that -- in the entire history of literally all of time and space, I accept. Do you want to help me finish these dishes?" Derek rolls his eyes, but steps forward and snatches the towel from Stiles hand drying as Stiles washes.  
  
.oOo.  
  
Derek sets up on the floor next to the guest bed, letting Cora sleep there. When he was the Alpha, codes of conduct would have forced it to be the other way around, but, sometimes it's nice to not be the Alpha. She's sound asleep, finally in a bed that isn't a reject pushed out into a cabin in the woods. Derek can't sleep though. He's too concerned. Beacon Hills is dangerous now. More than it was before. It's hard to sleep knowing that things are coming. Bad things, even by Derek's standards.  
  
He resigns himself to let his hearing roam again. Cora's heartbeat and breathing are steady in the room. The sheriff's are as well across the hall. Another room down, Stiles heartbeat is fast, his breathing hitched and letting out a small whimper.  
  
Derek gets up quickly. Thinking there must be some emergency, he just runs into Stiles' room. The teen is curled in the fetal position on the floor next to his desk, laptop and a few books still open there.

Derek thinks the teen must just be having a bad dream. His nerves calm at the lack of an actual threat in the house. He turns to go back to bed, but the noises coming out of Stiles and the acrid scent of fear make him turn back, kneeling down and putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder. Suddenly, the shuddering in the sleeping human fades mostly and his breathing evens out. His heartbeat slows. Derek shakes his head, though he’s not totally sure why. He sighs a long breath through his nose, and realizes that the remaining shiver is likely from the cold, so he picks the teen up, a bit surprised because he thought Stiles would feel more like a brittle twig than an actual, somewhat sturdy human. He drapes the covers over Stiles gently so as not to wake him, and turns out of the room, pausing for a brief moment to check the heartbeat and breathing in his ears.  
  
Derek heads back to the guest room, lies down, and pulls the borrowed quilt up around himself. It smells like something that hasn’t been used for some time, but in a nice way. Whatever scent lingers on the blanket has a distinctly warm and comforting sense about it. Not long after, he falls asleep with his hearing focused on a steady breath and a slow, rhythmic heartbeat.


	4. Domesticity and the Art of Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get strangely normal in the Stilinski house and Stiles and Derek are both keeping secrets.

_It starts the same as all the others. The darkness comes and envelopes him. It fills him with nothing and, when it reaches his eyes, it pulls away and flees him. He starts to feel the panic. It's bright and harsh, and he's cold and alone. It's the same as always, but, then, for a moment, he feels warm, safe. It feels like someone's with him. Someone familiar, but he can't quite place them._  
  
Stiles wakes at a quarter after seven. He doesn't remember checking the clock after about half past midnight. He also doesn't remember getting in bed. But he's fine to roll with it. It's the first night since the Nemeton, almost two weeks now, during which he's gotten more than an hour and a half if sleep. And it was starting to catch up with him.  
  
He slides out of bed and stretches, feeling better than he has in a while. He changes his clothes and heads downstairs, smelling eggs and burnt toast. "Morning," Cora smiles from the stove where she's making scrambled eggs. Derek's sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.  
  
"Morning," he returns, stalking over to the coffee pot.  
  
"Hope you don't mind," she says, scooping the eggs onto three plates. "I can pick up some more eggs later today."  
  
"No, you're fine. Mi casa, su casa," Stiles gestures between them as he pulls out a mug and pours coffee, not adding sugar or creamer. Some toast pops up from the toaster and Cora quickly puts the vegetable spread from the refrigerator on it, slices it diagonally and drops it on the plates. She hands one to Stiles and carries the other two to the table, putting one in front if Derek.  
  
Noting the burnt toast smell, Stiles makes a face and Cora gets it. She tips her head at her brother, "You'd think he'd at least be able to make toast after a year and a half as a bachelor, but he really learned nothing." Stiles and Cora smile at Derek, but he just returns a cranky half smirk.  
  
"Aw," Stiles mock defends, "don't be too down on him. He's the kind of wolf that wants to just take down a deer and eat it in the woods." Cora only gives a weak smile at that, and Stiles raises a questioning eyebrow, knowing that somehow he went too far. He just doesn't know how. "Sorry?" he offers. Derek clenches his jaw, but, after a moment that is really just a little too intense for stiles to handle, waves it off. "Well, I'm going to go get ready and head to school," Stiles says, stuffing the rest of his food into his mouth. "Thanks for breakfast," he says around the mouthful of eggs, eliciting an amused smile from Cora and what he has come to know as the _I refuse to laugh at your brilliance_ head shake from Derek. He drops his dishes in the sink and heads to the upstairs bathroom.  
  
"You're not mad at him, right? I mean, it's not like he knows," Cora sets her fork down, clearly serious.  
  
"No, it's fine," Derek sighs. There's no way for Stiles to know how much self-control Derek has to practice to keep his wolf buried. Most of the werewolves he knows were bitten, so their natural tendency is already toward the human side. Derek had it harder when he was an Alpha, but it will always be more than what the others have to fight. Control is Derek's mantra, and that's why Cora knew that Stiles had overstepped with the animalistic joke. But, she hasn't been around long enough to know that that's just what Stiles does.  
  
They finish breakfast as Stiles is heading out the front door. "I probably won't be back until around seven-ish, so I'll see you later. I'm making chicken enchiladas for dinner. It'll be ready around eight. Let me know if anything... you know, **_bad_** , comes up." They wave and he's out the door.  
  
.oOo.  
  
It's a relatively productive day. Derek and Cora go see about a few condos for rent in the area, some very nice and more than bit too expensive, others well within their price range bt Cora puts the kibosh on them since they’re apparently “not going to live in another apartment fit for some sort of Batman villain.” Afterwards, he drops her off at the library so he can run a few more _sensitive_ errands.  
  
He talks to Deaton, who, as Stiles said, isn't ever particularly helpful. The good doctor just greets him and says he's glad they came back, for the pack's sake. Then he insists he needs to get back to his patients, leaving Derek with absolutely nothing helpful at all.  
  
Next, Derek goes to make sure Chris Argent knows they're back in town. He doesn't need to get shot at just because somebody doesn't know he's returned. Chris is by no means glad to see him, but he appears to be a little relieved. Having some more help for whatever's coming can't hurt, they both know that.  
  
Despite his gut instinct, he visits the Nemeton, feeling the power it's radiating. It's not a good sign, and there’s something a bit off in his stomach when he’s there, but he’s not sure exactly how to place it. He’ll probably need to investigate a little more.  
  
He swings by the grocery store to pick up more eggs, some better coffee, and what he thinks is the sheriff's favorite beer, before picking Cora up from the library. She's been there for about four hours. Derek is forcing her to get her GED, and he's pretty sure she'll pass it no problem if she just studies for a few weeks.  
  
They get back to the Stilinski's around six. Cora goes upstairs to listen to some music and relax while Derek puts the few groceries away and pulls out the book he's been reading, resigning himself to the couch. It’s strangely comfortable, this little bit of domesticity.   
  
.oOo.  
  
It has been a **long** day. After two pop quizzes and dealing with pack dynamics after the addition of the twins to their lunch table (which also brought Danny, so they couldn't actually out and out _talk_ about anything), he headed out to the preserve with Allison and Lydia. Allison taught them some basic hand-to-hand combat skills to use with creatures that can rip you in half and Stiles walked Allison through the steps of healing a wolfsbane wound while determining the exact parameters of Lydia's immunity. To be fair, he only knows three spells that they could work with, and none of them are that fantastical or complicated. They already knew her effects on the mountain ash lines, so he didn’t try to get anything else out of that one. Stiles tried a few things with the short range locating spell he uses to find his keys most mornings, but it can't find Lydia or anything she touches.  
  
"Okay," he had said, motioning for Lydia to come back out from whatever tree she had been hiding behind. "The only other magic thing I know isn't something that I've actually done before. It's a fire thing. I mean, like, I make _fire_ in my _hands_." The girls gave him looks that tell him he's a nerd. "I know, cool, right?" They just shook their heads at him. "Anyway. I'll get the flame going. It's a little more dangerous as far as the tests go, but..." he gave Lydia a sympathetic look, "I want to see whether or not it can actually hurt you."  
  
Lydia rolled her eyes at his babying her. "Get on with it," she said and he picked up a little pebble from the ground. Holding it in the center of his right palm, he focused the magic there. He breathed steadily, eyes clamped shut so he could focus. He felt the pebble lift off of him and then there was some heat growing, he could feel it both as physical warmth and the magical buzz. He opened his eyes keeping cool and collected. Lydia ran her hand across the fire floating there. "Huh," she said. "It feels warm, but not... hot." She held her hand right over the fire for several minutes, pulling it away to reveal a black ash mark, but no actual harm to her hand.  
  
"Interesting," Stiles hummed, but a tug in his chest distracted him from thinking about the immunity implications. All at once, he felt the darkness around his heart reach out and tug at the fire. It rushed down his arm to the hand holding the flame as he yelled at the girls, "Get back!"  
  
The fire roared from a small flicker to a massive blaze which roared up both of his arms and threatened to expand further. It tore away at Stiles' sleeves, but didn't mar his flesh. "Lydia!" he heard Allison scream over the rush of the fire in front of him, pointing the red haired girl at Stiles. Lydia apparently got the memo, rushing forward and grabbing Stiles' wrist. The fire had dissipated almost immediately, regardless of what fuel it had found, and Stiles made special note of the effect of Lydia's immunity on his spell casting.  
  
After that craziness, they called it a day and trekked out of the woods. Stiles hasn't thought about much other than the darkness' effect on his magic for the whole ride home. He sees Derek's car, an olive green range rover that he must've traded the Camaro for when they left Beacon Hills a couple weeks ago. After a long sigh, he heads inside. "Hey," he calls, seeing Derek in the living room reading.  
  
Derek nods in his direction, looking back at his book, but then double taking when he notes Stiles' hoodie sleeves. "What happened to your shirt?" his voice is mostly level despite what appears to be just a twinge of worry on his face as his eyes dart around the teen looking for any visible injury.   
  
"Ah," Stiles says, brushing at a streak of ash on the pale skin of his forearm. "Nothing. You know. Just a little fire."  
  
Derek gives him a concerned look for about a millisecond, but noting that Stiles doesn't actually appear to be harmed, just turns back to his book, giving the Derek Hale head shake #68: the one where he’s amazed that people can show such blatant disregard for safety. It’s also the one where Stiles knows Derek is asking himself why he hangs out with teenagers.  
  
Stiles drops his bag in the corner of the living room before heading to the kitchen to start on dinner.  
  
.oOo.  
  
Everyone's sitting around the table, dishing up the steaming hot enchiladas. The Hales have food on their plates but haven't started eating yet, waiting patiently until the sheriff starts. Stiles takes note and groans, half laughing and half mortified, he disrupts the silence, “You've got to be kidding me."  
  
"What?" his father asks after swallowing his bite of food.  
  
All three of them are looking at him now and he just directs his gaze to Derek. "You're treating my dad like the Alpha?"  
  
Derek clenches his jaw and Cora just shrugs it off. "Well," Derek explains, biting the words a bit as he looks at the wiry teen, "he is the head of the household."  
  
"Huh," the sheriff almost chuckles. "Looks like werewolves have better manners than my son." He starts eating and the werewolves follow suit.  
  
Stiles squinches his face at the remark, but the conversation shifts after Derek takes his first bite of the enchiladas. "Oh my God," he spits. "What did you do to this poor food, Stiles?"  
  
"What?" Stiles shrugs. "They're healthy," he defends, putting another bite in his mouth. It tastes fine. And it won't give anyone a heart attack.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Derek," his father sympathizes. "This is how it always is. 'Healthy' almost never means 'tasty.' But _you_ only have to deal with it until you find a new place," Derek gives the sheriff a look of condolence for his taste buds.  
  
"I think it's fine," Cora chimes. "Besides, Derek could use some more healthy food. We may be werewolves, but we too can get high cholesterol." Derek leers at her, but Stiles smiles. "You should come over when we get our place. Lord knows Derek could use more company than just me."  
  
The older wolf is just looking at his sister a bit confused. For some time, he had thought that she liked Stiles. Like, in a specific sort of _romantic_ way. But as he views them in the Stilinski home, he gets a much more familial vibe from their friendship. "Whatever," Derek grumps as he eats the food on his plate, taking seconds only because he's incredibly hungry.  
  
.oOo.  
  
Stiles is washing dishes, as per usual, after dinner. Derek walks in without a sound and starts to dry as they had done the night before. "Thanks," Stiles says. "You know you don't have to help me."  
  
Derek just shrugs. "I would feel bad if we stayed here and didn't contribute. Besides, I need a respite from Cora's interior planning ideas. Ever since I can remember, she's been quite the girly-girl. It was strange the last few months, seeing her so somber. But since that near death experience, she's back to her old self. And it's kind of annoying," Derek grumbles under his breath as he wipes the water off of a cup and sets it in the cupboard.  
  
Stiles laughs faintly. "Can't she hear you?" he asks, pointing upstairs.  
  
"No," he answers definitively. "She's got headphones in. Ugh. She's listening to Britney Spears." Stiles laughs a bit more, finishing the last pot in the sink and humming Toxic absentmindedly to himself. And maybe a bit to annoy Derek. Derek smiles, just barely, not enough for anyone to notice, and turns back to drying a plate.  
  
"Well," Stiles says, wiping his hands in the dish towel over Derek's shoulder. "Thank you for helping. I'm going to my room. I need to do some research on my..." He checks to make sure his dad isn't around, then says, very quietly, "ya know, _magic_ -y stuff." He wiggles his fingers as he backs away, trying to be comically spooky. But, Derek can sense something slightly off with him.  
  
.oOo.  
  
At about four in the morning, Derek wakes from a mostly dreamless sleep to go to the bathroom. He walks down the narrow hallway in just his pajama pants, but stops halfway, hearing the clicking of fingers against a keyboard. He sees the light coming out from under the door of Stiles' room and slowly enters. "What are you doing up so late?" Derek asks sleepily.  
  
Stiles flails at the sudden and ninja-like invasion if his room. He slams his computer shut and swivels in his chair, catching his breath. "Jesus Christ, Derek," he breathes quietly, motioning for the werewolf to shut the door. It clicks shut and he continues, "You can't just barge into my room like that. You'll give a man a heart attack."  
  
Derek shakes his head to ward off a chuckle (#16, reserved for Stiles’ flails and inappropriately timed remarks). "I think you're at a very low risk for heart attack." Stiles just shrugs that off, clearly that wasn't the point. "What were you doing?" he asks, pointing at the laptop.  
  
Stiles glances down and fumbles out some gibberish before, "… Nothing. Just some mystical research."  
  
He's hiding something. "You're hiding something."  
  
"What? No I'm not," Stiles defends, lying.  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"Dude, I'm not lying." Still lying. There's bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and Derek smells the empty Red Bull cans in the trash bin next to his desk.  
  
"Is it about the nightmare you had last night?" Derek asks, though he's not sure why he's so concerned.  
  
"How do you... Why do you even care?" Stiles asks, aborting the first question for a harsher tone.  
  
"I don't," Derek lies, defending himself. Though, he’s not sure exactly what he’s defending himself from. "Just curious, I guess."  
  
"Yeah, well... Mind your own business," Stiles jabs, turning back to open his laptop again.  
  
"You sound like a five year old," Derek deadpans. Derek only came back because Cora made him. If Stiles can get his magic up to par, he could be a major asset in protecting all of them. He won't get there if he doesn't get some sleep, though. "Go to bed," Derek commands, turning to leave the room.  
  
"I can't," Stiles mutters under his breath. Derek turns back around, stare inquisitive. "You were right," he admits slowly, not looking away from his computer screen. Derek stands there silently until Stiles faces him. He gives Stiles a knowing look, urging him to continue. "I've been having nightmares, okay?" he says waving his arms around in some sort of big spectacle, like it’s a big surprise and Derek should be shocked. "Well, more specifically,” he calms back down, “I've been having **a** nightmare. Every single night since we made the sacrifices in place of our parents."  
  
Derek can see he's still holding back. "There's something else," he says, but it's not as accusatory as Stiles would expect. It's kind of soft; kind of compassionate.  
  
"It affected my magic today,” he admits, feeling more than a little ashamed that he lost control like that earlier. “That's all I’m going to say. Look, I actually got a good night's sleep last night, and I want to see if this nightmare is just fading but I... What?" Derek got a mildly guilty look before Stiles finished explaining his qualms with sleep.  
  
Derek clenches his jaw, debating how to answer. It shouldn’t be embarrassing that he may have helped Stiles calm down last night, but, for some weird reason, his gut is telling him to keep it to himself; that nothing good can come of letting Stiles know. "Nothing. Maybe you’re right and the nightmare's just fading over time." Stiles shakes his head, knowing Derek is keeping something from him, but too tired to actually dig for whatever it is. "Just, try to sleep,” Derek tries, less of a command than before. “You'll need rest for what's coming." He turns and exits, hearing Stiles close everything, throw on pajamas, and slip into bed, letting out an exhausted sigh.  
  
Derek waits about an hour until he hears the faint whimper in Stiles' sleeping breath before he enters and places a hand on the teen's shoulder. Stiles calms and Derek goes back to bed, mind churning over what’s going on in his subconscious.


	5. Field Trips Aren't as Fun as I Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek enlists Stiles' help with something. Don't make it dirty, perv.

It's the same as the night before. Stiles wakes up having slipped out of the nightmare near the end and sleeping restfully until about a quarter after seven. He gets up and throws on some clothes, heading downstairs, he hears his father and the Hales talking in the kitchen. "Morning, Stiles," Cora greets cheerfully before he rounds the corner.  
  
"Morning," he returns, gruff in his still slightly asleep stupor, the three coming into view at the kitchen table. There's a plate of ham and eggs with cheese at the empty chair. "You did not feed that to my father," he deadpans, serious.  
  
"First of all, son," the sheriff pipes up, over his paper, "I'm right here. And secondly, they didn't. Cora made me eat egg whites with turkey bacon." He turns up his nose. "I thought you said they were treating me like the Alpha."  
  
Stiles shrugs and Cora answers in a voice sweet like the sugar they won’t let the sheriff eat. "Just because you're in charge in the house, doesn't mean I don't respect Stiles' efforts to keep you healthy." She smiles at the sheriff and he waves it off. Stiles eats quickly, not really feeling like talking for once. He just looks at Derek, the whole time trying to figure out what he's hiding. Derek gives him a few cursory glances back, questioning the staring, but always returning to his paper with head shake #33 (“Stiles is just weird and I’m going to ignore him”).  
  
He finishes, gets ready for school, and is headed out the door before his dad calls after him. "I heard about the fire yesterday," Stiles leers at Derek, who raises his eyebrows and shrugs in defense, before his father finishes, "from Mr. Argent. Come straight home after school today, son. Derek will tell me if you don't." Derek shrugs again under the sheriff’s gaze and nods in agreement sipping some coffee.  
  
"Ugh. Fine," Stiles grumbles. It’s possible he slams the door on the way out, but who can ever really be sure?  
  
.oOo.  
  
"Hey," Stiles calls, walking up to Lydia and Allison in the hall before they all head to the lunchroom. "So, my dad's sort of put me on house arrest after he heard about the fire yesterday."  
  
"Sorry," Allison says, "I didn't even consider that my dad might tell yours."  
  
"It's fine," Stiles waves it off. "So, you two go practice today, I have to figure some things out anyway."  
  
They both nod and, thanks to Danny’s presence, they all head off to a relatively normal lunch.  
  
.oOo.  
  
Stiles' Jeep creaks as he parks her on the driveway of the Stilinski house. He enters the house and tosses his backpack on the ground, flopping on the couch without realizing Derek was there. He inadvertently kicks the werewolf in the chest, earning a snarl as the werewolf closes his book with more malice than should be possible for the action.  
  
"What. The hell," Derek grits out.  
  
"Sorry," Stiles breathes lazily, retracting his legs so they don't get torn off. "Boring day, zoned out. Didn't see you."  
  
"Whatever," Derek grumbles. "Get your stuff, we're going,” he commands as he rises and sets his book on the side table by the couch.  
  
"What?" Stiles blurts, confused. "My dad put me on after school lockdown and you're my warden."  
  
"I know, but I need you to look at something for me," Derek says flatly, walking slowly to the other side of the room and grabbing his coat and keys while pinching the bridge of his nose, which Stiles knows as the gesture for Derek to keep his calm with other people’s (mainly Stiles’) questions.  
  
"Dude, whatever, as long as I get to do something," Stiles bounces up off the couch and runs up to his room to grab his triad practice backpack.  
  
Cora catches him before he gets back downstairs. "Hey," she calls from down the hallway, headphones pulled just out of her ears so she can hear. "What're you up to?"  
  
"Oh," he responds, bouncing on his heels in anticipation. "Derek and I are going on a field trip. He's taking me somewhere to look at something."  
  
"Ooh," she responds. "Wink, wink," she mocks, though it takes Stiles a minute to get it.  
  
"Ew, no. It's probably something Nemeton related.” He makes a face at her implications and does his best not to blush at the thoughts, which he’ll need to scrub out of his brain as it makes him shudder again. Derek’s attractive, and Stiles has come to think of himself as what he likes to call hetero _flexible_ , but Derek is too emotionally closed off and he does not want any part of that emotional baggage.  
  
"Sure," she calls back, tone not exactly telling how much she read into Stiles response. "Have fun."  
  
"Stiles!" Derek calls from the living room. "Hurry up!" Stiles gives one more grumpy and inquisitive look to Cora before he bounds back down the stairs and Derek ushers him out to the range rover.  
  
.oOo.  
  
The pair drive out on the highway into the preserve, somewhere Stiles vaguely recognizes. Cora's weird joke creeps into the back of his mind. "We're not here to... You know...” Stiles pauses because he’s being more than a little bit ridiculous, and seeing the confused look on Derek’s face, he spits out, “Never mind. That's incredibly ridiculous. Wait, you're not going to kill me, are you?" It's mostly a joke, Derek can tell, so he just shakes his head at Stiles' stupidity (#68 again, it’s one of the most common).  
  
They get out and walk a ways in silence before they reach the Nemeton. "Oh," Stiles breathes. "You just wanted me to look at the old magic stump?" He sighs, relieved. Although, he’s not sure why Derek would bring him. He’s seen the thing before and hasn’t really noted anything particularly important about it besides the fact that it has a faint buzz of magical energy.  
  
"Yes," Derek says flatly. "It's strong enough that I can sense it, but you're more in tune with magic, so I want your input." Stiles is a bit taken aback by the somewhat compliment. It’s strangely nice for someone to acknowledge that he has skills and that those skills are actually useful and desired.  
  
Stiles looks at the rings of the tree, all of them glowing faintly in his perception, but all buzzing with varying energies. It's like a billion different spells are inside of it, pushing at the seems. It’s strange, there’s much more power here than there was before. Something else must have happened after the big showdown with the Darach and the former Demon Wolf. But, more than anything, he notices the Nemeton seems to be alive. Not alive like most trees. Alive like he should talk to it.  
  
Stiles steps forward a few paces, reaching out a hand before Derek grabs his wrist, snapping him back from his sixth sense perception. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" the werewolf asks, a twinge of concern in his voice as he looks at the large, flat surface. It’s not that he and Stiles are on the best terms, but he doesn’t want the kid to get hurt. Especially not because of him.  
  
"No, you're right." Stiles pauses, not sure how much he should reveal. "I... I'm not sure I'm in total control of my mojo. Yesterday, the fire, it got out of hand. Literally." He would smirk at his little pun, but this is a pretty serious issue and, despite what everyone thinks, Stiles can be somber when the situation calls for it.  
  
Derek gives a questioning look, but resolves to let Stiles keep some things to himself. After all, it’s only fair considering that he’s not exactly going to make himself an open book to the little spell-weaver. "So, what do you see?"  
  
Stiles ponders for a moment. "Well, there's certainly a lot of energy here. Way too much, actually. I'm not sure the tree can hold it all. It's like a balloon that's been over filled to the point where it's about to pop. But, more than that, it feels... It feels like the tree wants to talk to me." He looks Derek in the eyes, tearing his gaze from the Nemeton.  
  
Derek presses his lips into a fine line, furrowing his brows. "Maybe it's some sort of trap," he offers. If the Nemeton is in distress, it might just want to use Stiles. And, if Stiles trips the trap, it will inevitably be Derek’s job to get him out of his own mess.  
  
"Yeah," Stiles says, and Derek loosens his grasp on him. "You're right. But, then again..." He takes the moment to push through the bit of Derek's grip left on his wrist and place his palm flat on the smooth surface. Derek's eyes widen with the sudden jerk of movement, and he's suddenly thrown back by some invisible force.  
  
The physical connection allows the Nemeton a stronger link for communication. Though it's not verbal, per se, Stiles understands everything loud and clear. The Nemeton is in pain, stretched to full capacity after so many sacrifices. It needs an outlet, and it’s not going to be taking no for an answer. Stiles tries to warn it about the darkness in him, but it ignores his concerns, allowing much of the excess energy it has built up to flow into the human conduit. After a few moments, the Nemeton thanks him, in a way that Stiles feels but doesn’t really understand, and releases the connection.  
  
Derek watches as the tree and Stiles begin to throw off waves of light that roll like smoke. He starts to move forward, but some force pushes him away. Without warning, the force dissipates and Derek lunges forward, catching Stiles limp body as he falls back from the tree.  
  
"Ow," Stiles grunts as Derek checks his pulse, perhaps a bit frantic.  
  
"Idiot," Derek breathes, secretly relieved. He lets Stiles fall the rest of the way to the ground and gets back to his own feet before asking the obvious question: "What happened?"  
  
Stiles props himself up and rubs the back of his head before standing with a slight wobble. "Well, it did talk to me, sort of. And..." he pauses, looking at his arms like he looked at the stump earlier. There are only faint lines of magic in him. Much less than the tree, but maybe there's more than he's seeing. "I think it taught me a bunch of stuff. I mean, not in the traditional way, and, even though it was kind of a thank you gift, I don't think it was just for my benefit. It was using me, like you said. It was in pain from all the energy inside of it, so it let a bunch if it flow into me."  
  
Derek looks at him a bit conspicuously. "Is it safe?" he asks, not sure how to handle the situation. Magic has never made him very comfortable. Even when he was younger, he would avoid Deaton and the other emmisaries because they always smelled like lightning storms. Stiles does too, he supposes. In fact, the scent is stronger now after he touched the Nemeton, but it’s covered up by some sort of sweet scent that is distinctly Stiles’ and that Derek’s never really placed.  
  
"I'm not sure," Stiles answers honestly, wondering about the safety of the power he recieved. He flexes his fingers, feeling the energy buzz inside him. He also senses the darkness in his chest. It seems to have a will of its own. And it wants him to do something. It wants him to use some sort of spell again, to do something it can use to destroy. To cause chaos. Stiles can feel the urge. He wants to do it. But, a bigger part of him is squelching the darkness, holding it at bay. For now. "I think we'll be fine as long as I don't do anything... paranormal." He waves his hands in a sort of mockingly mystical gesture as he makes eye contact with Derek.  
  
Derek sighs, maybe a bit relieved that, for the moment, he doesn’t have to deal with a teenaged magic bomb. "Okay. Let's head back to your house your dad'll be home in an hour."  
  
.oOo.  
  
Dinner is fine. Derek and the sheriff eat it despite its healthy aftertaste. Derek helps Stiles with the dishes, though the uncomfortable sideways glances he's getting make Stiles feel like a convict or a bomb. Maybe both.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Stiles asks, finishing the last dish and drying his hands on the towel Derek's holding. Stiles leans onto the counter and gives Derek the full stare down.  
  
"No," Derek answers quickly, face rigid. From years of brooding practice, Stiles is sure. But he can tell when Derek is lying. After all, if he can break through Lydia’s façade to the hiding real emotions, Derek’s little wall of stoicism can’t lock him out.  
  
"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?" he bites, causing Derek’s face to pinch up a bit, not wanting to get caught up in some ramble rant.  
  
Cora, who had walked in unnoticed makes a low noise as she grabs an apple. "Uh-oh, lovers' quarrel. I'm out," she calls as she takes a bite of the fruit and heads back upstairs.  
  
Stiles shakes his head in confusion and Derek calls after her that she's, "Not that funny."  
  
"But, really, Derek," Stiles snaps their attention back to the blatant staring issue. "What's up?"  
  
"Nothing," he answers as earnestly as possible, but he knows Stiles isn't stupid.  
  
"I'm not stupid, Derek. This is about the," he lowers his voice since his dad is in the living room watching the game. "It's about what happened at the Nemeton. Don't worry about it. I know I can't use magic right now and I'm pretty sure it didn't want to cause me harm, anyway. I think it wanted us to be... friends. Or something. It doesn't really use words, so I'm trying to turn vibes into language here." Derek looks like he's still concerned as he stacks plates in one of the kitchen cabinets. "I'll look into it. But, for the time being, try not to glare holes through me."  
  
.oOo.  
  
Stiles goes to bed around ten without prompting tonight, and Derek goes in and helps him through the bad part of the dream like he's been doing. Then he goes back to bed, though he doesn’t sleep.  
  
Cora's trying to play opossum, but Derek's senses are too keen and he catches her. "What?" he asks quietly, prompting her to speak.  
  
She sighs, clearly not really caring about being caught. "What was that?" She gestures towards Stiles' room.  
  
"Nothing," but he knows that won't fly. Cora’s nosey and she wants all the fuel she can get for this weird teasing she’s been doing ever since they got back. "He was having a nightmare. I could tell. He was basically part of my pack before. I had the instinct to comfort him. Get over it." He explains rapidly, listing off the line of logic with his tone signaling the end of the conversation. Cora smirks at his uncomfortableness with discussing the situation, but she falls asleep quickly afterward.

Derek, on the other hand, has a hard time getting his mind to just shut the hell up as he worries about what happened with the Nemeton and the strange nightmares that are giviug Stiles all kinds of unneeded hell. Not to mention the fact that soon, very soon, bad things are going to be in Beacon Hills and they’ll all be pushed to the limits to protect their home. Eventually, even the worry gets exhausted and he falls asleep.


	6. I thought the phrase was "Out of the Woods"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack has a group outing at the preserve. Sounds like some good, clean fun, right?

Stiles wakes with a buzzing sensation. He reminds himself of what happened yesterday and hops out of bed. He throws on clothes and heads downstairs.  
  
Though it’s really only been a thing for the last two days, he finds it a little strange that no one's there to greet him. "Hey," comes Derek's voice from the living room behind him. "Surprised to see you up so early," he says, legs crossed and reading his book on the couch.  
  
"What are you talking about? If I wasn't up this early is be late for -" Stiles actually slaps himself in the forehead at the realization. "It's Saturday," he sighs. Derek gives the #68 and looks up to meet Stiles gaze.  
  
"Nice work, Sherlock," Derek deadpans as he continues reading. "By the way, your dad took your keys. Something about house arrest for starting fires."  
  
"Well," Stiles says, flopping onto the couch next to Derek. "Since I'm up anyway, wanna do something?" Derek gives him a level stare before returning to his book. "Fine," Stiles breathes, "I'll just go practice magic in my room. Next to your room. Where Cora is. Listening to her music and completely unaware of everything around her." Stiles gives Derek a devious smile and the werewolf drops his book begrudgingly, rolling his eyes and giving as much of an unpleased vibe as Stiles thinks is possible. "Cool," Stiles beams. "Get Cora and your jacket. We're going to the preserve. I'm going to call the pack."  
  
.oOo.  
  
Derek, Cora, and Stiles are not the first to arrive. Lydia and Allison are already standing in the small clearing where Stiles told everyone to meet. Isaac and Scott show up a few minutes later, followed closely by the twins on their incredibly, ridiculously sexy motorcycles. Why does Stiles not have a sexy motorcycle? "What are they doing here?" Derek asks, glaring at the Alpha pair. Why does _Derek_ not have a sexy motorcycle?  
  
Aiden snarls a bit, but Stiles steps up, "They're fine. They're part of the pack, we all are. Right, Scott?" He looks to his best friend, urging him to speak up. It’s a strange dynamic, they’re both acutely aware of that.  
  
"Right," Scott says, leveling a red eyed glare at Derek and then at Aiden, who backs down. "You're all part of the pack. My pack. But it's your own choice. You can all leave if you want to." Scott’s voice isn’t very commanding. He sounds more like a pre-school teacher who wants all of the kids to feel included than he sounds like a leader of a group of people about to fight for their lives.  
  
"But," Stiles quickly interjects, needing to put the tone of the day back on the right track. "Remember that we're stronger together. And we need that right now." Scott nods and Derek takes note of the dynamic. Stiles has more than enough potential to be Scott's emissary. That's likely what Deaton was grooming him for. But, the way that Stiles interjects into pack affairs, it seems like he's the true leader. But, of course, that’s ridiculous because a human can’t be an Alpha. The closest they can get is to be a mate. "Anyways," Stiles starts, derailing Derek's train of thought, perhaps just in the nick of time, "the reason I had all of you come out here is that we need to train." Scott gives Derek a quick look that says he knows that Derek’s thinking about something but he doesn’t know exactly what, and then turns back to his best friend. Derek’s just lucky that Scott isn’t the greatest at deciphering people.  
  
"Okay," Scott says, taking the reins, "we should split into two groups: werewolves and others." He looks at Stiles who nods slightly, but tips his head slightly to Derek and Cora as well as the twins. "But, the werewolves we'll split by Alphas and Betas." Stiles gives him an affirmative look and Derek laughs a little internally at the puppet government going on. Perhaps Stiles will be the first human Alpha. Derek wouldn’t put it past him. Or, maybe Stiles is Scott’s mate. Derek shudders at the thought and resigns to never go there again.  
  
Stiles speaks up again. "Meet back here in an hour and we'll all train together. Lydia and I need practice actually fighting werewolves and you all need practice against magic." Derek gives him a vaguely concerned look that few would note, but Stiles sees it and confidently waves it off, following the girls up into the woods a little ways away.  
  
Isaac comes over to the Hales cautiously. Derek wasn't ecstatic about leaving Isaac, but the younger wolf was adamant about staying with Scott's pack. He smiles and pulls the teen into a tight hug. He’s not necessarily one to be all touchy, but Derek will make an exception when those close to him need comfort. Isaac hugs back a little and Derek releases him so they can speak. "How've you been?" Derek asks, seeing Cora smiling at his rare display of affection.  
  
Isaac smiles sheepishly, giving the question’s answer without speaking. "I'm glad you're back. Both of you," he looks over at Cora. She smiles back at him, not as sour as she'd been the last time he'd seen her. "Should we start?" he asks, looking over at where Scott and the twins are sparring without much form or particular training plan in mind. Derek and Cora both smirk at an inside joke.  
  
"Yeah," Derek smirks. "Instead of sparring let's work on you two's strengths. Isaac," he turns to the Beta, "I want you to work on your senses. When I was here last, you were easily the best with scents. Work on your hearing. Try to find everything in the forest without moving from that tree. After I'm done with Cora, I'll have you fight me blindfolded." Isaac nods and heads over to the tree Derek pointed out. "Cora," he turns to his sister.  
  
"Agility training," she says. "You can get a workout and Isaac will have to work on tuning things out."  
  
Derek smiles and picks up a decently large rock, probably about 80 pounds. Cora's eyes sparkle a brilliant amber and Derek chucks the stone at her. She dodges and it cracks a tree in half. "Whoa!" Isaac yells from his tree. The twins and Scott stop for a moment to check the source of the noise before returning to their pointless sparring.  "How am I supposed to do my thing with you making so much noise?" The younger Beta asks.  
  
"Figure it out," Derek shrugs before whipping a large part of the downed tree's trunk at his sister, who narrowly leaps out of its path.  
  
Up the hill a ways, Stiles, Lydia and Allison are going back over what they've done this week. "Okay, I'm just gonna put this out there,” Lydia says, fidgeting with a knife she'd been using for close quarters combat practice. "Stiles, you can't do magic. It'll probably get out of hand, like with the fire."  
  
Stiles breathes out sharply before responding. "I know," he admits. "I can't do anything offensive. The control issue seems only to stem from using the more drastic spells. I'll only use the pixie dust and locating spell. Nothing will get crazy. I promise." Lydia sighs, but they return to practicing with their melee weapons, both girls using knives and Stiles using a long, tapered bow staff fashioned from mountain ash.  
  
.oOo.  
  
After about forty five minutes, Derek stops hurling heavy objects at his sister and calls Isaac's attention. "Ready?" He asks, gripping the smaller Beta's shoulder. Isaac nods and Derek takes a piece of cloth out from one of his jacket pockets, throwing his trademark outerwear down next to the tree so it doesn't get torn up.  
  
Isaac wraps the blindfold around his head and nods to Derek that they can start. Derek lunges forward, and Isaac just barely sidesteps him, his shirt getting a slight tear along the side. "Good," Derek says, proud of the Beta’s rapid learning curve, "but you'll have to attack me, too. You can't defend forever."  
  
Isaac takes a deep breath and leaps about fifteen feet in the air, adequately confusing Derek as the more agile Beta goes well over his head. Derek swings a bulky arm back, but Isaac ducks below it, slicing up the inside of Derek's torso and sweeping his leg before pinning the former alpha to the ground. "Not bad," Derek grunts as Isaac's knee digs into his back. He flips the both of them over in a sudden, fluid movement and pins the smaller Beta. "But, you should never try to pin a larger opponent by yourself." Derek takes the blindfold off of Isaac as he hears the non-wolves approaching.  
  
Stiles gives a tilted glance at Derek and Isaac while Cora stands off to the side. "Uh-oh," she chimes. "Someone's jealous," she teases, and Derek glares at her. He's getting sick of the weird nagging. Stiles keeps walking and Isaac just looks confused, but Derek gets up off of him and offers a hand up.  
  
The group gathers in the little clearing again and Stiles starts, "Okay, everyone. As the head of the Squishy Triad -"  
  
Lydia smacks him on the back of the head, "I told you, that's not a thing. And who voted you leader?"  
  
Stiles just sticks his tongue out at her, because that’s totally the appropriate and mature response. He catches Derek’s eyebrow arch, the one that just says ‘really?’, and continues. "Anyways", he turns back to the group at large.  "Lydia's with Cora and Aiden. Work on your technique. Don't kill each other." The assigned trio goes off to the side and Stiles continues, "Isaac and Scott, you're with Allison because you need work dealing with hunters and pixie dust."  
  
"What's pixie dust?" Derek asks, but no one answers him. He looks around but everyone’s either too far away, shrugging, or just ignoring him. The awkward love triangle moves to another part of the clearing to start.  
  
"Okay," Stiles turns to the last two. "Ethan, Derek. You two are with me. Ready?" Ethan nods and Derek opens his mouth to protest because 1.) he still doesn’t know what pixie dust is, 2.) he does not take orders from Stiles, and 3.) isn’t it a bad idea to put Scott, Allison and Isaac in one group? But he's cut off with a breath of dizzying wolfsbane to the face.  
  
Ethan lunges at Stiles, eyes red, but he's smacked away with the staff and Stiles rolls to the other side, staying low because Allison’s taught him some pretty good tactics. Throwing a pinch of dust in the air, he makes a ring before Ethan can lunge at him. The blue-violet field repels the werewolf and Derek quickly picks up a stone, correcting for the confusing effect of wolfsbane in his nose, and hurling it in Stiles' direction. The teen only barely dodges the projectile, but he sidesteps out if the circle to do it. Derek leaps and tackles Stiles to the ground. Using the staff, Stiles gets leverage and rolls Derek, pinning him. Out of his peripherals, Derek sees Ethan about to lunge at the human on top of him, but a shrill scream distracts everyone. Lydia falls to the ground. And Aiden picks her up.  
  
"What happened?" Stiles yells, getting off Derek to run to the red-haired, fainting beauty.  
  
"Nothing," Cora announces, clearly confused and more than a bit antsy. "We haven't even been able to scratch her yet." Huh, go Lydia, apparently. Two training sessions and no magical ability and she’s suddenly a badass. Stiles is shaken out of that thought as he realizes that the scream may have actually been a wail and a sudden realization dawns on him.  
  
"Shit."


	7. Burnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down. And also, feels are felt.

"Everybody get over here!" Stiles yells to Derek, Ethan, Scott, Allison and Isaac. They all kind of look at him without moving for a moment, which boils his blood because _can they not hear the urgency in his voice?_ He fumbles through his pocket, and seeing that still no one’s moving, he yells again, louder and more frantic than he knew he could sound, "NOW!"  
  
They all shake off their stupor at his outburst and rush over. He quickly tosses the dust from his pocket in the air. It comes down around them, forming a protective ring. But, it also traps the werewolves, which Stiles is sure will make them antsy. He doesn’t particularly care, though, since whatever’s coming is probably going to kill one of them if he doesn’t do his job and keep everyone safe.  
  
Lydia comes swiftly back to consciousness in Aiden's arms and the Alpha brushes some hair from over her eyes. "Let me guess," Stiles directs at her as he tightens his grip on the staff in his hands. "Something wicked this way comes." It really is the perfect little phrase for what’s happening, but he can’t bring himself to smirk at his clever humor. She nods and Aiden sets her down because they all know that Lydia Martin is _not_ one to be held like a damsel in distress.  
  
"Stiles," Derek barks, the wolf running about under his skin and itching to get out of this cage. "You trapped us in this ring." He’s almost vibrating with pent up energy and he’s just vaguely aware of the lingering wolfsbane in his nostrils.  
  
"No," Allison says, tone flat and serious. "He gave us a shield. Lydia only screams when someone is about to be attacked by the supernatural." Despite the fact that she stole his heterosexual life partner from him, Stiles has always liked her. She’s sharp and very aware of what needs to be done in every situation.  
  
"You mean _killed_ by something," Ethan says, eyes going red. Derek notes that the twin Alpha needs to work on his control over his wolf. It was probably easier when they had Deucalion to carry some of the load for them, but Scott probably doesn’t know how to draw off the wolf from his Betas.  
  
"Not necessarily," Stiles interjects, and Derek notes the calming effect of the teen’s speech on the group. Though they’re all certainly still on edge, the wolves are relaxing out of a total freak-out at being in the ring. "We've intervened to stop killings before. Now," he says surveying the group, "everyone stay calm. We're going to get out of this alive."  
  
It's more than likely no one else notices since Stiles is pretty good at lying when he needs to be, but Derek can hear a slight tinge to Stiles voice. He doesn't fully believe what he's saying. "Break the circle, Stiles," he breathes calmly. His wolf has receded with Stiles’ speech, which is something he’s not going to dwell on, but Derek is _not_ going to just sit here and do nothing.  
  
"No," Stiles returns, voice unwavering. Derek clenches his jaw. Even if he can't make it away from whatever this is, Cora's fast. She could probably get away. And Stiles could, too. He’s better at magic than he thinks. "We don't know what this thing is. We don't know if any of us can outpace it." Derek hates it when Stiles does that: knowing exactly what Derek’s thinking even though no one else can figure him out. This must be how Lydia feels when he reads through her façade. It’s uncomfortable to say the least.  
  
"Okay," Lydia says, just to calm the building tension between the former Alpha and the spell-weaving teen. "But,” she motions to the surrounding forest, “shouldn't it be here by now?"  
  
Stiles looks around, there's a distinct lack of creatures outside the circle. Lydia’s right, it shouldn’t take this long after her wail for something to happen. He can feel something, though. He gets an inkling of what might be happening and uses the weird sixth sense thing he’s been developing to start looking for magic. And then he sees it. "There!" he points and Allison fires her bow, clipping whatever it is that's coming after them.  
  
"Stiles," Allison breathes with a sense of urgency, but still cool and collected. He can see why the Argents make the women their leaders. All of the guys in the circle are literally bouncing up and down with aggressive energy even though they have no plan of attack. "I can't see it. What is it? **Where** is it?"  
  
Stiles is racking his brain, but he can't figure out what it is. He can only see its glimmer of magical energy as it speeds around the circle. He needs his gun. He scans the ground: it's about fifteen feet over in his backpack. Taking a few deep breaths, he puts down his staff because it will only slow him down, and then books it out of the circle, ignoring his friends' shouts. He dives but the invisible creature knocks him out of trajectory. "Damn it," Stiles breathes as the creature circles around to come back at him. He glances at the circle, regretting leaving his weapon behind. Holding out his hand, he yells, "Lydia!"  
  
She follows his line of sight and gets the memo, throwing him the mountain ash staff. He catches it just in time to beam the creature where he assumes its head must be and keeps it off him. He stumbles toward the bag again, but the creature grabs him by the back of his shirt and throws him back ten feet, hindering his progress even further.  
  
Derek can’t stand sitting safely in the mountain ash barrier while Stiles fights whatever this thing is alone. "Lydia," he commands, grave and not hesitating even slightly. "Break the barrier." She shakes her head no, but that’s not an answer Derek is going to accept right now. "Lydia, this thing's going to kill him if you don't let me help him." Lydia takes a few breaths, clearly thinking over everything that can happen if she does what he’s asking of her. Eventually, she begrudgingly heads to the ash line on the ground. Derek nods and mouths thank you as she lays her hand on the ring and dissipates the magic.  
  
"No!" Stiles shouts from where he's getting up twenty feet away. He senses the creature taking note of the broken ring as it rushes up from behind him towards the pack. He pulls himself up onto one knee. A clump of leaves and dirt clutched tightly in his right hand, he focuses the necessary energy into his palm and creates the fire that he'd promised not to. He hurls it at the creature as Derek leaps out of the ring in his peripheral. The fire stems from the fuel in his hand, streaming from his fingers toward the vaguely shimmering creature. The creature flails, letting out a screech as it falls out of the air.  
  
Stiles tries to slow the fire, to draw it back, but the darkness has already pushed into the magic, causing chaotic streams of burning energy to engulf him and spread into the surrounding forest. The fire continues to spill forth trees going up around him. He feels his shirt burning off and his vision is engulfed by the blaze. He’s afraid that the fire will eventually get to his friends.

Lydia comes running through the flames, her dress lighting slightly at the fringes. She kneels in front of Stiles and scoops up his limp arms. The fire around them flits into the air and fades away. Besides the scorch marks, you wouldn’t think a fire had been there at all. Stiles feels a stark chill in the late November air, seeing as no fabric remains on his torso. The darkness snakes angrily back into his chest, and Stiles lets out a long breath a he slumps forward heavily onto Lydia.  
  
"You weren't supposed to use the fire," she breathes, a hand brushing through the hair on the back of his head. It’s funny, he’s thought about her doing that so many times. It’s comforting, and he knows that she has love for him, the touch conveys it. But, he also knows that she doesn’t love him like _that_. But that’s beside the point. He’s still a little mad at her.  
  
"You weren't supposed to break the circle," he mutters into the singed fabric on her shoulder. Why she wears dresses all the time still confounds him. Seriously, does she _want_ to end up a tasty creature snack? "I'm sorry," he sighs, fighting off the sense of exhaustion with all that he has. He’s not actually mad at her.  
  
"Me too," she breathes, hand still running soothingly through his hair.  
  
He’s content to fall asleep there, feeling drained, but Derek comes up behind them. "You two good?" he asks, somehow feeling it's his fault this happened. Of course, it kind of is. "Yeah," Stiles says, leaning back off of Lydia. He clears his throat, gesturing to where the creature fell. Its magic still glimmers slightly, but Stiles thinks it may be dead. "We should figure out what it was." Lydia helps him up and they head over to the glimmer. "Here," he says, taking the banshee's hand.  He places it on the creature, fading the shimmer to near nonexistence, but making the creature visible. It's small, humanoid, with what can really only be described as fairy wings.  
  
"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Lydia says, looking at the half burned creature. "We just had a life and death fight with a **_fairy_**?"  
  
"That makes sense," Stiles says, everyone else looking at him like he's crazy. "Fairies, like, the pixie kind, can become invisible. They're also particularly in tune with nature and magic, so they would’ve sensed the Nemeton first. They’re probably all over the forest. They aren’t typically aggressive, at least, not from what I’ve read. But still, we should probably be more careful when we come out here from now on." Everyone nods in agreement and Stiles feels the tiredness slipping back behind his eyes.  
  
"What should we do with it?" Scott asks, clearly uncomfortable with everything that's just happened and the fact that he didn’t do anything to help. Stiles will help him get over it eventually, but right now he’s way too tired for the ‘ _you’re a good Alpha, I promise’_ speech.  
  
"Burn it," Derek says flatly, referring to the fairy. "The rest of the way, I mean."  
  
Stiles nods. "Can you, Isaac and the twins handle it?" he asks Scott. His friend nods. "'Kay. Allison, Lydia go home. Derek, Cora, come on." Derek takes most of Stiles' weight off of Lydia and they all grab their stuff and head out.  
  
Derek helps him into the passenger seat of the car, noting that Stiles is much more fit under all those ironic t-shirts he wears than one might think. "We've got to be more careful," he says, stepping back beside the door to the range rover.  
  
"I know," Stiles agrees, buckling his seatbelt. “I already said that.”  
  
Derek closes the door and goes around, Cora climbing in the back seat. "Don't listen to him," she says while her brother walks around the car. "You were the exact right amount of careful. He's the one that got Lydia to break the line and screw up your plans."  
  
Stiles smiles back towards her, his body feeling weak from the beating he just took in combination with all the magic use. Derek opens the driver's side door and climbs in. "So," Stiles says, "you're the reason Lydia broke the circle?"  
  
Derek glares at him. "You were in trouble."  
  
"We were all in the trouble,” he corrects, feeling particularly displeased with the werewolf. “I was handling it. It would've been fine," he huffs and Derek mulls it over. It wasn’t necessarily cut and dried that Stiles wouldn’t have been able to take the fairy without magic if he’d had a little more time.  
  
"What was your plan, exactly?" Derek asks derisively, thinking Stiles had simply rushed out without any sort of thought behind his actions. Though, Derek should be careful how he words things, because it’s not like he had had a plan. He couldn’t even see the thing.  
  
"Well," Stiles starts, indignant, "since I was the only one that could _see_ the thing, I was going to get my gun and kill it."  
  
"So, you weren't just going in wand blazing?" Derek interrogates. Stiles said he wasn't going to use magic, and then he did. It makes Derek angry. Angrier than it should.  
  
"No," Stiles defends. "I can't control it yet. Not that I'm sure I'll ever be able to." He slumps back in slight defeat.  
  
"Hold up," Cora interjects from the backseat. "Why can't you control your magic?"  
  
Stiles sighs heavily. He doesn't really want to talk about this. He’s already told Derek, and that felt like more than enough people knowing his problems. "After the sacrifices, there's this sort of darkness in me. It’s a part of me, like another personality, but still close to me. It takes control when I'm using some of the less tame magic and..." He makes a gesture to represent all the fire spilling from his fingers.  
  
"Sounds like the full moon," she offers. Both men turn to look at her, but Derek turns back to pay attention to the road. She shrugs, "It just sounds like the wolf on the full moon. The wolf is part of us, but it's also kind of separate. It tries to take control on the full moon, and it will unless we have an anchor to keep us attached to our humanity."  
  
Derek tips his head to the side contemplatively. He supposes it's not a bad analogy. Stiles hums, thinking. "So," he starts, "I need to find an anchor to keep me in control? What do you use for an anchor?"  
  
"It's generally a person or a group of people," Cora answers. "For us, it has to include some sort of distinctly human emotion. I use my family. All the times we had together when I was young."  
  
Stiles sits and ponders for a while as to how he can make an anchor work, inadvertently dozing off. When Derek notices the teen's heartbeat pick up, he reaches a hand over and cups the back of Stiles neck, rubbing small circles until his heartbeat slows. Cora gives him a suggestive look, but he just whispers, "Shut up."  
  
.oOo.  
  
When they pull up in front of the Stilinski house, Derek curses under his breath. Cora leans forward inquisitively and he points to the sheriff's cruiser in the drive. Derek parks along the curb and kills the engine as he hops out of the car. The sheriff descends the porch steps quickly, clearly concerned, but hiding it well. Derek and Cora meet him halfway.  
  
"What's going on?" the sheriff asks calmly, gesturing to the range rover with a nod.  
  
"There was, a, uh, _situation_ out at the preserve." The sheriff dawns an openly worried expression and moves to go to the car. "Stiles is fine," Derek says sympathetically, putting a hand on the sheriff's shoulder as a soft restraint. "He's sleeping though, and he needs it. I'll bring him inside. Cora can catch you up." Cora nods and leads the sheriff back inside as Derek goes to the car and gently unbuckles Stiles. He lifts him slowly, keeping an ear on his pulse. Though Derek's more than strong enough to lift him, Stiles is deceptively heavy. He's packed a considerable amount of lean muscle onto his lanky, awkward frame in the past year and a half. No one must've noticed because he always keeps covered. Derek can also see bruises forming on the teen’s pale skin from where the fairy tossed him around. It makes him uncomfortable to see the injuries and know they won’t heal quickly.  
  
On the way up to the front door, Cora and the sheriff come into view. As he passes them, Cora just smirks and mouths "adorable," prompting her brother to give an aggressive eyebrow arch and a confused look to come from the sheriff.  
  
Derek puts Stiles in his bed and draws up the covers. It's becoming something of a habit, Derek comforting Stiles while he's asleep. It's not awkward, though, and it's becoming less of an annoyance each time. He lingers for a bit, hand resting on Stiles' shoulder despite it being unnecessary, and watches him sleep. After a few minutes, he realizes how incredibly creepy he's being and shakes his head (the rare, self-deprecating #18, though Stiles isn’t awake to see it). He gets up and leaves the room.  
  
Downstairs, Cora's got the sheriff all filled in and they're standing near the front door. "I have to get back to the station," Sheriff Stilinski says, opening the door. "Keep him safe while I'm away," he makes eye contact with Derek as he steps backwards out the door and Derek nods in promise. He would keep Stiles safe regardless, and the sheriff seems to know that. He just has to ask because it’s his duty as a father to make certain that his son is looked after.  
  
They hear the sheriff get in his car and head out before Cora lays in with the teasing. "So, carrying him in like that," she says, voice thick with innuendo. She starts poking her brother in the ribs and moving around the front of him as he tries to retreat. "You must feel like his knight in shining armor." She mock swoons, dipping her weight against the wall, "So noble and strong."  
  
Derek shakes his head, aggravated. "I thought _**you**_ liked him," he retorts. Cora screws up her face like she's both disgusted and offended. "What? He's not _that_ bad," Derek defends. He certainly not unattractive. And, despite his annoying tendency to ramble, he's really quite an asset, both socially and tactically.  
  
"Yeah, no," she agrees, nodding in mock enthusiasm, "he's great. I just think of him in the same sort of way I think of you. He's like a brother. The way more fun brother I never had. Well, I mean..." She trails off, remembering Derek when they were young.  
  
They both go back to the fire in their minds, and Derek doesn't want to be there, so he just reaches out to poke at Cora's sides. "I can be fun," he grins as she starts to giggle, slapping at his hands.  
  
"Derek," she says between little laughs. "Derek, don't," she swats at his hands again, backing away in a large circle around the living room. He lunges and pins her, tickling at her sides, just like they're little kids again. "Derek!" she squeals. "We're gonna wake him up!"  
  
Derek stops, looking up the stairs before dipping his head and stifling a laugh. Cora starts laughing quietly too and Derek rolls off of her to the side. Both of then just sit there, reveling in the familial bonding and trying to ignore how bad things are about to get.  
  
And they are. Things are going to get really bad. Fairies are child's play compared to what's coming.


	8. Librarians, Who Knew?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to do some research and stumbles onto something he hadn't been looking for.

Stiles wakes up late, later than he normally would on a Sunday. He's been sleeping well the last few days, but he's by no means caught up on his rest. And, after the episode with the freaky fairy yesterday, he felt drained, like the magic had pulled the life right out of him.  
  
Stiles rolls the covers off of himself and lazily swings his legs over the side of the bed. His pants are only lightly scorched, thank god. If everyone had seen him in his underwear, he might’ve actually died. He throws on a shirt and another pair of pants before he heads downstairs, careful to be as quiet as possible. He needs to do some research, but he's not sure how much his dad knows about yesterday and he's not in the mood to deal with the ‘disappointed’ face.  
  
He reaches the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, hand on the doorknob, before a voice calls out behind him, "Going somewhere?"  
  
Stiles whirls to face the sound. It came from the living room, where Derek sits in the dark on the couch. "Oh, thank god,” Stiles breathes a heavy sigh of relief at the sight of the werewolf. “I thought you were my dad." Derek responds by looking back to his book, feigning disinterest professionally. "I'm just headed to the library. Gotta do some research."  
  
Derek raises his head and an eyebrow, Stiles endeavors gaining his curiosity. "What kind of research are you going to do at the library?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Stiles mocks, treating Derek like he should maybe be in remedial life skills. But hey, can you blame him? The man’s an _animal_. "Do you not know what a library is? It's that place where they have all the books and, ya know, people use those books to **learn** things. One might even say they do **_research_**."  
  
Derek rolls his eyes at the condescension. Stiles is being purposefully ignorant and, though he will never admit that it actually entertains him a little, Derek is frustrated. "You know what I mean, Stiles. There probably aren't any books on the things coming after us. At least, not in the non-fiction section."  
  
Stiles shrugs. "You'd be surprised. The folklore stuff is pretty informative. And, I've got the Bestiary mostly scanned into my laptop. Lydia’s translated a good portion of it and I’m cross-referencing with what I can find on the internet and in the library’s books." Derek gives a mildly impressed look and Stiles is both proud of himself and a bit offended at the surprise. “Yeah, that’s right, I have skills besides my magic.”

Derek shakes his head, #16, holding back laughter. “So,” Derek says, his own tone growing condescending, “how do you plan on getting there?” Stiles opens his mouth like Derek asked a stupid question, but he doesn’t find what he’s looking for in his pocket and he stops. Stiles suddenly remembers that he’s grounded and doesn’t have access to his Jeep. He gives Derek a vaguely pleading look and Derek closes his book with a long sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “I’ll take you. I need to run some errands anyway.”

Stiles smiles at his manipulative victory. Usually Derek would put up more of a fight, but Stiles is fine with the turn of events, so he doesn’t question it. “Sweet, thanks, man.”

Derek walks over and grabs his coat and keys, breathing loudly so as to make sure he conveys how put upon he is. “Don’t mention it,” he says flatly. But he means it. “Seriously, Stiles. Don’t mention it. I don’t need your dad breathing down my neck and I _definitely_ don’t need to give Cora any more ammo for this weird joke run she’s been on. Especially not after last night.”

Stiles agrees about the Cora situation, but, “What happened last night?” he asks as they walk out the door to the range rover. He doesn’t remember anything after falling asleep in the range rover which means. “Wait,” he pieces it together in his head. “You carried me to bed?” It sounds more shocked and offended that it’s meant to.

“Look, you were drained and it didn’t seem necessary to wake you,” Derek defends, though he doesn’t think he should have to, seeing as he did Stiles a favor. “Besides, if you’d have been awake, you would’ve had to explain to your dad.”

“Ah, man,” Stiles laments. “So he knows?” He was hoping that his dad wouldn’t have found out, because how do you explain what happened without bringing up the fact that Stiles is magic?

“Yeah,” Derek says, unlocking the vehicle and climbing in. Stiles gets in the passenger seat. The car smells like ash and lightning, which Derek hadn’t noticed last night. Probably because of the lingering scent of wolfsbane that had been in his nose. He’ll have to remember to clean out the smell later. “Cora’s the one that actually explained to him. I’m not sure how much she told him, but he didn’t seem incredibly happy. You’ve probably got some explaining to do.” Stiles just slumps his shoulders and retreats into his seat as Derek starts up the car and heads into town.

.oOo.

Stiles walks into the library like he owns the place, Derek following slowly behind. “You didn’t need to come in,” Stiles says, turning and walking backwards so he’s facing the werewolf.  
He had figured he would just get dropped off and Derek would pick him up later when he was done with whatever mysterious, broody werewolf errands he needed to run.

“It’s fine,” Derek says, surveying the building. He hasn’t been there in years. Since he was just a kid. He’s always liked reading. It’s a good way to focus and keep his wolf buried low under human emotions. And, the library offers a comforting smell. The old oak bookcases and musty books are a pleasant contrast from the woods where the wolf likes to roam. “I need to pick up a new book anyway.” He finished reading Dante’s Divine Comedy that morning.

“Whatever,” Stiles shrugs as he turns back around. From behind one of the bookshelves, a woman who must be the librarian since she’s the only other person in the building, emerges with a stack of books cradled in her arms.

“Hello, Stiles,” she says as she comes down the aisles. She’s a strangely beautiful young woman with emerald eyes and brown hair that’s wrapped loosely into a bun on the back of her head. She wears stylish glasses and a nice dress that goes down to the floor but still flatters her figure. It’s chocolate brown with small green vines curling around about the edges. “Who’s you’re friend?” she asks politely, gesturing to Derek in a nod over the books.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Daire. This is Derek. He’s just here to drop me off and pick up a new book to read. My dad took my Jeep.”

Ms. Daire takes a book of the teetering stack and hands it to Derek. “Here you go, and Stiles, I keep telling you: you can just call me Alex.” Stiles nods and heads over to the research table. Derek looks at the book she handed him, gives a polite nod, and follows the teen, noting how the librarian’s eyes follow him.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers, sitting down at the relatively large wooden table where Stiles has started to set up his laptop.

“What?” he responds, coming back up from under the table where he was plugging his charger. Derek holds up the book, eyebrows raised in implication and pointing to the title. Stiles reads aloud: “ _Darkest Desire: The Wolf’s Own Tale_. Huh, random.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, tipping his head to the side with the ‘really?’ eyebrows fully arched. “There’s something up with her.” Derek cautions a look over his shoulder at the librarian, who’s checking books at the counter and putting them all on a cart.

“Oh, come on, Derek,” Stiles says quietly. “There’s nothing up with Ms. Daire. She’s been here for months and look at her,” he gestures at the woman in question. “Does she look like she’s some sort of supernatural creature?”

Derek has to admit, she seems very normal just looking at her. Maybe a little too attractive to be a librarian, but Derek’s beginning to think that everyone in Beacon Hills is maybe just a little more attractive than the rest of the world’s population. But that’s beside the point. He turns back to Stiles, “Do I look like I’m a supernatural creature?”

Stiles shrugs. “Kinda. I mean, you are excessively broody and you wear way too much leather for it to be normal.” Derek pinches his eyebrows together in annoyance and maybe a little bit of what Stiles thinks could be self-consciousness. “It’s just a coincidence Derek. It was the book on top of the stack. Maybe the universe is giving you a sign.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences,” Derek says blankly, looking back at the cover of the book.

“Yeah, well, I don’t. But, I _also_ don’t believe our friendly neighborhood librarian is some sort of creature of the night.” Derek just gives him the blank look that says, despite his lack of anything else to say, he’s not going to let it drop. “Fine,” Stiles bites out quietly, “I’ll prove it.” Derek raises an eyebrow but Stiles just reaches in his pocket, grabs a small pinch of mountain ash and throws it near the floor. It makes a decently large circle around the table. Derek makes a face at being trapped like this again, but Stiles just tsks at him. “Stop being such a big baby.” He unscrews the light bulb in the lamp attached to the table just slightly and turns to face the front of the building. Raising his voice so she can hear him, Stiles calls, “Ms. Daire. Sorry, Alex.” She turns and gives a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t get the lamp to turn on. Do you think the light bulb might be out?”

She gives a slightly confused head tilt, pursing her lips, and starts to walk over. “Well, I wouldn’t think so,” she says still about ten feet from the ring. Derek holds his breath and prepares to fight, and Stiles just mentally shakes his head at how ridiculous it is that he has to prove this to Derek. “I just replaced them two days ago.” She swings a foot over the line and Derek exhales quietly, realizing he must’ve been wrong and it was just a coincidence that she gave him the book.

Stiles, however, notices a change in the ring. The buzz that always accompanies the magic is actually stronger. Not only that, but in his extrasensory vision, he can see a slight change in the hue of the magic spark. Instead of the standard blue-violet haze, the ring is throwing off a vague blue-green tint. She steps in front of Stiles and he can see all of the lines of magic on her skin. There’s quite a bit, more than he saw on the fairy. She twists the bulb back into the socket and flips the switch. “There,” she says, the light illuminating the desk where they sit. “It was just a little loose.” She walks back to the front desk and continues logging the books.

Derek turns to Stiles, admitting, “You were right. She passed the test. Not a creature of the night.” Derek notes the slightly off, blank expression on Stiles’ face. “What?”

“Well,” Stiles says, coming back to reality and out of the whirling chasm of thoughts that is his mind. “Actually, you were right. Kind of.” Derek gives him a mildly puzzled but serious look as his eyes change to a chilling blue. “Calm down,” Stiles says, leaning forward and putting a hand on the werewolf’s knee. Derek’s heartbeat picks up just slightly, but the blue bleeds back out of his eyes. “We can’t go in claws out, fangs down on this one,” he whispers. “I don’t know what she is, but she has a lot of magic.”

Derek nods, still looking at Stiles hand on his leg. He looks back up, Stealing Stiles eye contact from the front of the building. “So what do we do?” he asks quietly. Hopefully she doesn’t have super hearing. Derek’s ears perk at the thought, but he can hear she’s still just scanning barcodes.

Stiles ponders a moment and then replies a flat, “Nothing.” Derek shakes his head quickly, this is one Stiles has only seen once before. It’s #27, the shocked ‘ _What?_ ’ head shake. “Look, if we do anything out of the ordinary right now, she’ll **definitely** be onto us. We don’t know if she noticed the ring, so for now, you need to go. Pick me up in an hour. I’ll call you if I absolutely need help.” Derek doesn’t move. He’s not just going to leave Stiles here with someone, some _thing,_ whose intentions they aren’t sure of. Stiles takes his hand off of Derek’s knee and ushers him away. “Derek. Go,” he commands. Derek has a very displeased face, but he does what Stiles wants him to. Just like always.

Derek takes the book and walks slowly to the front door. Before he can exit, she calls after him. “Oh, Derek?” He turns on his heel and gives a polite smile. “You have to check the book out before you can take it with you.” He looks at the book in his hand and begrudgingly moves to the counter where she stands.

“Right,” he says, feigning embarrassment. “What was I thinking.”

She smiles, so pleasantly that Derek wants to rip her throat out with his teeth. “Do you have a library card?” Derek shakes his head. “Well, I can just put it on Stiles’ if you want.” Derek nods, careful to control his expression and his eye color. “Ok,” she types a few things into the computer and stamps the checkout card from the inside cover of the book. “There you go,” she hands the book back across the counter. “It was nice meeting you, Derek.” Her green eyes seem to glimmer, almost entrancing him while she speaks. “I hope you find the book… informative. I thought it was very thought provoking.”

Derek nods, breaking himself from her stare. “Yeah,” he fumbles, which is weird, because Derek never fumbles. Except that one time with Stiles. “Thanks.” He turns and leaves, looking over his shoulder just before he goes out the door to make sure Stiles is ok. The teen just waves him off and Derek heads out to his car.

Stiles puts his attention back on his laptop where he’s doing all of the research he can with what little information he has so far. He’s got green, feminine, magical, and not necessarily a dark creature. Something tells Stiles that she’s not just a witch. With the level of magical energy she’s got just inside of her, she’s definitely something more. A standard witch doesn’t hold that much power. They just channel power from the earth or from objects that hold the necessary energy. Even Ms. Blake, when she was the Darach, wasn’t containing the energy she was using. She was drawing it from the Nemeton. A few links into the internet and Stiles is getting nowhere. He wonders if some of the books might help, but he doesn’t want to get up and alert Alex to his current research topic. He glances over at the front desk, but she’s not there.

“Looking for me, sweetie?” she asks as she comes up behind him. She has an old looking book in her hands and a slight tilt to her head.

“Um,” Stiles breathes out slowly. “Nope. I just realized that I actually should be at home, being grounded and all. I’m just going to call Derek and have him pick me up.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket quickly and types in the password.

“Ok,” she says, starting to turn toward the front. “Oh, actually,” she turns half-way back to Stiles, holding out the book out to him. “I thought you might want to give this a look, considering all of the other books you’ve been checking out and the ones that you’ve been looking through while you’ve been here.” She sets the book down in front of him. There’s a tree done in Celtic knots pressed into the hard green cover. “It’s got all kinds of stories in it. I’ve already checked it out for you.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, picking up the book and surveying it as she walks away.

“No problem,” she calls back as he’s getting his stuff packed up to go. With a small knowing grin, she adds, “I hope it comes in handy.”


	9. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of doing something actually productive, Stiles convinces the Hales to watch TV.

“Stiles?!” Derek practically shouts into the phone as he starts up the car and goes the block it takes to get back to the library from where he parked.

“Yeah, Derek, I’m fine,” his voice comes through the phone tinny and distant. “She just gave me a book and the willies. Now,” he says, changing the topic to the more pressing matter of him freezing his butt off outside of the library as rain pours down. “Can you please get your ass over here and pick me up?”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes as he pulls into the library parking lot. They both hang up and Stiles runs over, sliding into the passenger seat and out of the rain as quickly as possible. It really started to downpour in the fifteen minutes they were at the library. But that’s what happens in the mountains of northern California as you get closer to winter. Stiles looks a blankly out of the window, clearly worried. “Are you sure you’re ok?” Derek’s not totally sure why, he mostly blames it on instinct, but he reaches out a hand and puts it on Stiles’ shoulder.

The teen cringes and flinches away in pain. “Yep, I’m good.” Derek pulls his hand away quickly, face slightly panicky at Stiles reaction. “You’re fine,” Stiles waves as the werewolf looks adequately taken aback with himself, “you just pressed on a bruise.”

Derek had almost forgotten completely about yesterday. “Sorry,” he says, turning back to the windshield and putting the car in drive before pulling out of the parking lot. “So, any clue as to what we’re dealing with?” Stiles just shakes his head no. “What’s in the book she gave you?”

Stiles pulls it out of his bag, flipping through the pages again and scanning for anything important. “I’m not sure yet,” he admits. “It looks like a bunch of folk stories, mostly from northern Europe, but I think there’s a few more global entries.” He drops the book back into his lap. He’s not sure how, but he’s already exhausted. Derek notes it and gives him a mildly concerned look. “Dude, you can stop looking at me like I’m about to die,” Derek just looks back to the road. “I just want to sit down on the couch like a normal teenager and watch an entire series on Netflix. Is that so much to ask?” he pleads. Derek holds back a small laugh with #16. Stiles grins.

“It’s not,” Derek answers flatly. “Too much to ask, I mean. It’s not like we’re going to train today with all the rain and you might as well get some more rest.” They both know there’s a lot of work to do, especially considering what just happened with the unidentified magic librarian. But, Derek can see that Stiles is burnt out. The magic and the fight yesterday are taxing Stiles’ system still. Derek wonders if that will always happen; if Stiles can use offensive magic without days’ recovery afterwards. And, on top of everything that’s already happening, the kid has to go to school tomorrow. He’s still a teenager, despite how his maturity makes people forget. It also turns something in Derek’s stomach to think about how young Stiles is, but he’ll ignore it for now. “What do you think you’re going to watch?”

Stiles ponders for a few moments. “Well, I still haven’t seen much of 30 Rock yet. Isaac really wants me to watch Doctor Who because he needs someone who understands his references. I could definitely stand to re-watch Buffy the whole way through,” his list continues, but Derek isn’t actively listening. “I dunno. What do you think?” he looks over to Derek inquisitively.

Derek just shrugs. “I’ve got a book to read,” he says, pulling up next to the Stilinski house.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles pleads, pulling his bag up as he opens the door. The pair of them rush up to the house, Stiles calling, “It’ll be fun! You, me, and Cora can all sit in the living room and bond over the misadventures of some unsuspecting fictional characters.” Derek opens the door and ushers Stiles in before he follows.

“I’m not really a TV person,” Derek says flatly.

“Fine,” Stiles huffs. “But you at least have to sit in the living room with us.” Derek sighs and kicks off his shoes and jacket before heading to the couch with his book. “Good. I’ll go get Cora.” Stiles runs up the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

“I heard,” Cora says, closing her laptop and hopping off the bed. “What are we watching?” She asks, walking out of the room and down the hall with Stiles.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says. Even though he’s still a bit tired, he’s happy that they’re going to do something normal for once. It is a _bit_ weird that he’s having movie night with just the Hales, but he and Cora have gotten weirdly close over the last few days. She feels kind of like the sister that he never had and they get to bond over picking on Derek, which is easily one of Stiles’ favorite past times. “What do you think?” he asks, really wanting someone else to make the decision. He’s never been the most decisive person. He blames it on his scatter-brainedness.

“Hmm,” she looks up and taps her chin for a moment. “Well, I’m not the biggest fan of TV shows, so can we just watch movies instead?” Stiles shrugs a ‘why not?’ as they continue down the stairs. “We should watch the Lord of the Rings.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, “That’s a great idea, actually. I haven’t seen those in a while.” Cora smiles as they reach the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll make some popcorn.” He heads into the kitchen, climbs up onto the counter and reaches into the back of a cupboard to pull out a bag of microwaveable buttered popcorn from the box that he keeps hidden from his dad. He throws it in the microwave, listening intently to make sure that it doesn’t get burnt. When it’s done, he pulls it out and pours it into a large bowl.

Walking into the living room, he sees that Cora has sat herself on the far end of the couch from Derek, leaving the space between them open. “Sit next to me so I can eat some of the popcorn,” she smiles, patting the seat next to her. Stiles sits down and hands her the bowl before picking up the controllers for the TV and the Xbox. He knows she’s up to something, he can see it in her eyes, but he’s just not sure what exactly.

Stiles starts the movie and Derek sighs as he turns the page in his book. The music swells and the angelic voice of Galadriel comes out of the speakers: “ _It all began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves; immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven, to the Dwarf Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern over each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a master ring, to control all others._ ”

Stiles feels a slight twinge as he watches. His mind wanders to a place where he is reminded of the darkness that the sacrifice turned a part of him into. The way it steals him and uses his magic for chaos reminds him of the way that Frodo feels when he wears the ring. “Stiles?” he hears Derek ask, clearly not the first time he’s said his name.

“Huh,” Stiles shakes himself out of his own mind. “Yeah. What?”

Derek looks at him seriously for a moment. It’s one of those looks where the person is trying to get inside your head and figure out what exactly is wrong. Stiles is used to those looks, but this one is a bit more concerned than others usually are. “Are you okay?” Derek asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles blurts, smiling and returning his attention to the movie where the fight scene is raging. The action is a good distraction from his thoughts, and Stiles lets himself melt back into the couch and his brain go out of commission

Cora makes eye contact with Derek behind Stiles’ head, but she’s not teasing him this time. She has this sort of look like she knows he knows what she knows. But, the thing is, he doesn’t. He raises an eyebrow in question and Cora tips her head to Stiles and to the movie and makes a gesture with her hand that looks like she’s petting a cat. Derek just gives her a confused look and she quietly takes a breath in annoyance at his density. She points at Stiles with her hand that’s behind the couch and then puts her hand a little ways back from Stiles’ neck and pantomimes the comforting gesture that Derek had given Stiles in the car the day before. Derek gives her a look that tells her that he gets it, but he doesn’t know why she’s telling him to do it.

“I’m going to go get a blanket,” Cora says, as though they haven’t been having a conversation with their eyes. She gets up and heads up the stairs until she’s out of the range of human hearing. “Derek,” she whispers, “We both know that he isn’t fine. Why don’t you just give the kid some comfort?”

“Why don’t _you_?” he asks quietly, but Stiles looks at him with a confused face. “Just talking to my book,” he covers, lifting the object slightly as though that will prove his point.

“Because you’ve already been doing it for days,” she whispers forcefully. “Besides, you’re the one who’s in love with him.”

“No I’m not!” he growls and now Stiles is looking at him like he’s crazy. He can practically hear Cora smirking as she bounces up the stairs to grab a blanket.

“Dude,” Stiles says, eyes a little wide with shock at Derek’s outburst. “That book must really be pissing you off. What’s it about?”

“Nothing. It’s just about some wolf that talks,” Derek grumps as he returns to his book and Stiles returns his focus to the TV. The book is actually pretty hard for Derek to read, though. It’s about this wolf who can’t control the urge to eat small children that stray into the woods where he lives. It makes him feel awful, and the Brothers Grimm meet him and tell him they may have a cure. But, the devil, who sometimes talks to the wolf, thinks the wolf shouldn’t be pushing against the natural dark urges he feels. He has every right to follow his natural instincts.

Cora plops back down onto the couch, giving Derek a look that he responds to with furrowed brows. “Do you want some blanket, Stiles?” she asks nicely.

“Sure,” he says, pulling the blanket over his lower half. “I actually was kind of cold.” Cora hums and looks over at Derek suggestively. He shakes his head, remembering that his sister is still, in fact, a teenager. And teenagers are ridiculous.

.oOo.

The book was only just over a hundred pages, and Derek finishes in about an hour. The movie isn’t even half way over yet and Stiles has already fallen asleep on Cora’s shoulder. She smiles as Derek looks over. With a devious grin, she gently pushes the sleeping teen off of her and onto her brother.

Derek goes to move, but he doesn’t want to wake Stiles, so he just has a quiet tantrum of mouthed cuss words and hands curled like claws. “Do _not_ leave him on me like this,” he whispers angrily.

Cora just shrugs her shoulders as she backs out of the room, mockingly whispering, “I have to go study.” She smiles as she leaves the room and he quietly makes angry and incoherent sounds at her as he hears her ascend the stairs.

Once it’s obvious that she’s left him there regardless of what he says or how angry he gets, Derek takes a calming breath and relaxes a bit, focusing on the movie, which he really has no interest in. The story moves slowly and he gets bored, letting out a few yawns as his eyes get harder to keep open.

Eventually, he dozes off too.

.oOo.

Derek wakes slowly as he hears the undoing of a lock and the turn of a doorknob. His blankets feel heavier than usual and his body is in a weird position. His eyes snap open when he inhales through his nose and smells Stiles. The title screen is playing on a loop on the TV and the two of them have ended up all tangled with Derek turned part-way onto the couch and Stiles snuggled tightly against his chest.

The sheriff comes the rest of the way into the house and closes the door. Turning to the noise of the television in the living room, he lets out a small chuckle. Derek waves his hands gently in defense, “This isn’t what it looks like,” he says, loud enough for the sheriff to hear but not loud enough to wake the sleeping teen. “We were just watching a movie and then Cora dumped him on me,” he blurts, not entirely sure why the sheriff isn’t more perturbed.

“Hey,” Sheriff Stilinski says, raising his hands, “you don’t have to explain cuddling to me. Scott comes over all the time. I think Stiles told me it was ‘heteronormative’ or something.” He points to his face and the distinct lack of a concerned expression there, “Don’t care.” The sheriff starts to walk away, but turns back after a step. “Just FYI, though,” he says matter-of-factly, pointing a finger right at Derek and giving a look that scares Derek more than Deucalion ever had, “my son is a minor for six more months and, if you try to take this to a bedroom: remember that Chris Argent is now supplying me with wolfsbane bullets.” The sheriff heads upstairs and Derek lets out a long sigh, relaxing back into the couch. He hadn’t realized how tense he had gotten.

He would totally lift Stiles off of himself and go to bed, really, he would. But, you know, Stiles needs sleep. And really, so does Derek, so he just takes a few deep breaths and lets himself drift off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. That was fluffy. Very fluffy. Am I sorry? Not even a little.


	10. Overshare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes people just need to keep their mouths shut. And take showers.

Stiles breathes in deeply and squishes his eyes together tightly as he wakes. Weird. His pillow is more firm than usual. And his bed smells musky. _Shit_.

Stiles pushes up slowly, not wanting to wake Derek. He can’t rip the lanky teen limb from limb if he stays asleep. “Morning, lovebirds,” Cora calls from the entryway, a cup of coffee held between her hands as she stands there in here pink pajamas smiling like she’s the funniest person in the world. Derek stirs under Stiles and the smaller man literally jumps off of him, over the back of the couch and as far away as he can possibly get in one move.

“I’m going to go shower!” Stiles yelps as he flails his arms, as though it will dispel the awkwardness of the moment. He takes the stairs two at a time and forgets to grab new clothes before getting in the shower.

Derek breathes a heavy breath and stretches a little before lifting himself off the couch. “Shut up,” he deadpans to Cora as he rubs his hands down his face.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, far too pleased with herself.

Derek shoots her a deadly glare, but it bounces right off her bright demeanor. “Look,” he starts, “even if I did like him,” she arches an eyebrow. “Which I am **not** saying I do. But, even if I did, he’s too young for me. And he obviously doesn’t like me like that. And I’m pretty sure his dad would actually kill me if I even thought about it.” Cora’s mouth pulls up on one side and she shrugs a shoulder. “Why is this so important to you anyways?” he asks. His sister’s sudden interest in his love life the last few days seems weirdly out of place.

“I just want you to be happy, Derek,” she says, all of the teasing out of her voice now. She comes over and sits next to him on the couch, rubbing a hand across his back. “After Kate and Jennifer, I just…” she trails, knowing full well that she shouldn’t be bringing this up, but also knowing that he eventually will have to face it. “I don’t want you to give up on wanting to be with people that make you happy.”

Derek takes his face out of his hands. “Then why are you trying to hook me and Stiles up? He’s number one on my list of annoyances, headaches, and people that I generally cannot stand to be around.”

“Don’t try to feed me that bullshit, Derek,” she says, pursing her lips. “I know you better than almost anyone, and I can see how you think his jokes are funny and how he you care about him, in more than just a pack way. Besides, knowing you, if you hated him that much, you probably would’ve just killed him by now.”

He sighs and gives her a sideways glance, not wanting to admit that she’s right. “Still,” Derek laments, “it doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen.”

“Eh,” she shrugs, standing up again and heading out of the room. “Give it time.”

Derek sits there for another fifteen minutes mulling over all of his personal drama. Why does Cora have to get in the middle of things? Everything was fine before she started making him think about his feelings.

“Hey,” Stiles says, hair still a little wet and smelling like soap. “Sorry about, ya know,” he gestures to the couch, “that.” Derek shrugs it off. “Um, so, my dad still has the keys to my Jeep and I only have twenty minutes before school starts. Do you mind?” Derek sighs and grabs his coat off of the arm of the sheriff’s recliner. “Thanks, man,” Stiles says, slipping on his shoes by the front door. “I owe you.”

.oOo.

When they pull up at the school, they see Scott and Isaac getting out of Scott’s mom’s car. Since it may look mildly ridiculous for the two teen wolves to ride on a single motorcycle, they’ve been dropping Ms. McCall at the hospital before coming to school for the last couple of weeks. Scott waves, but he sees Allison so he heads off in that direction. Isaac, seeing Derek, comes over to greet them.

“Hey, Stiles,” he says, waving to Derek through the window. “Why’s Derek dropping you off?”

The non-werewolf teen opens his mouth to answer, but Derek has parked the car and gotten out. “His dad took his jeep as punishment for starting forest fires with magic.” Stiles rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest, because it is true. “Do you mind giving us a moment?” the former Alpha asks the smaller teen.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Stiles waves as he walks away.

“What’s up, Derek?” Isaac asks, and Derek notes that the Beta is feeling better with some of the old pack back, but there’s still a little bit of something off.

“Well,” he starts, keeping an eye out for a clue as to what Isaac is keeping to himself. “Cora and I have been looking for a new place, and I know that you’ve been staying with the McCalls, but I was wondering if you wanted me to look for a three bedroom so you can move back in with us.”

“Uh,” the smaller Beta is a bit thrown by the offer, Derek having thrown him out when Cora had come back into the picture. “I mean, are you sure?” The older werewolf can sense some hesitation.

“Yeah. I would love to have you back living with us. Why? Is there some reason you want to stay with the McCalls?” Derek is confused by Isaac’s nervousness. He would think the teen would be relieved to not be living so close to Scott when he’s got a thing for Allison. “Unless,” Derek trails off, pondering what could be going on. “No. Scott? Really?”

“Of course not,” Isaac puts on a face that Derek sees right through. “That would be ridiculous.”

Derek grins. It’s nice to know he’s not the only one dealing with a burgeoning question of his sexuality. “Right,” Derek chides. “’Ridiculous.’” Isaac makes a pleading face and the older wolf waves it off. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures. “I’m just trying to make sense of it in my head. I thought you liked Allison.” The wiry Beta gives an embarrassed grin. “Seriously?” Derek asks. “Her too?”

Isaac shrugs. “I guess you could say I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “But hey,” he comforts, “Who does know what they’re doing when it comes to that stuff?” Isaac gives a slight laugh, thankful for the words. He inhales through his nose and gets a bit of a confused look on his face. He sniffs, the werewolf kind of sniff, and Derek’s eyes go a bit wider as realizes what he’s smelling.

Isaac gives him a knowing look. “So… you really are in the same boat,” he smirks.

“Keep my secret, I’ll keep yours?” Derek asks sheepishly. He allows himself to be open with Isaac because it’s something he knows the teen has had little of in his life. The younger Beta nods, promising to keep their confidence. “So, should I look for three bedrooms or two?”

“Probably three,” he responds with a grin. “Thanks, Derek. For everything, I mean,” his tone is a little more serious, but the former Alpha just shrugs it off. Derek heads back to the driver side of the range rover and they wave goodbye.

.oOo.

“Hey,” Isaac calls with a knowing grin that makes Stiles a little uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Stiles says slowly, closing his locker and getting ready to go to lunch. “What’s up?”

The werewolf just shrugs with that stupid grin still on his face and says, “Nothin’.” Stiles shakes his head, mimicking Derek’s #33, but Stiles uses it when werewolves are being weird and he’s just going to leave it at that. “So,” Isaac starts as they get in the lunch line. “How’s having the Hales in your house?”

Stiles shrugs about to say that it’s fine, but then he realizes why the werewolf looks so god-damned pleased with himself. “Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles says in a hushed voice, dipping his head so fewer people will hear their conversation in the crowded cafeteria. “He _told you?_ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Isaac smirks, conveying loud and clear that he does, in fact, know exactly what the non-wolf teen is talking about.

Stiles huffs as the lunch lady plops a ladle full of school grade mac and cheese on his plate. “This is so embarrassing,” he breathes. “Did he seem mad about it? Honestly, I’m kind of afraid for my life. The whole way over this morning I though he was going to brutally murder me and leave me in a ditch.”

The Beta chuckles a bit and puts some lettuce on his tray. “No,” he answers honestly. “I think he was actually the exact opposite of mad about it.” Stiles raises an eyebrow at that, and Isaac realizes that he should shut the hell up or Derek will actually leave _him_ dead in a ditch. “I mean, he just thought it was funny how scared you were or something. Anyways,” he says, desperate to change the subject as they reach the table with the rest of the pack sans Hales. “What’s up guys?”

Danny’s there again, so they talk about school and what everyone’s planning on doing over Christmas break and all of that boring stuff. Stiles pulls out the book Alex gave him yesterday and reads through the first stories.

.oOo.

Lydia and Allison give Stiles a ride home, but, considering the rain and the fairy situation, they postpone any sort of practice for the time being. Stiles rushes up to the front door to avoid getting excessively wet and reaches around in his pocket to get his key. Realizing that it’s on the keychain that his dad has, he rings the doorbell.

“Forget your keys,” Derek asks teasingly as he opens the door.

Stiles pushes his way in, dumping his backpack and his coat on the ground next to the door. “Very funny,” he grumbles. What is happening? Since when does Derek joke and Stiles grumble? “Speaking of funny, why did you tell Isaac about what happened last night? I figured you’d want to keep that a secret to protect your manliness and whatnot.”

Derek shrugs, closing the door. “First of all, you were getting all snuggled up on me. My manliness has not suffered even slightly. Besides,” he defends, “I didn’t intend to tell him. It just kind of came up.”

Stiles gives a completely uncomprehending look. “What?” he asks. “How does that just come up?” he waves his arm, seeming to try and grasp some sort of answer. “’Hey, Isaac. How about this weather? Stiles and I got all cuddly on the couch last night,’” he mocks.

“No,” Derek says flatly, sighing as he gathers the will to explain himself, though it pains him so to put up with this. “I was asking if he wanted to come back to live with me and Cora and he had some qualms about leaving the McCalls, so – “

Stiles cuts him off with a finger in the air. “Hold up,” he says, thinking over that little tidbit of info. “Why wouldn’t he want to leave the McCall house? I mean Scott’s mom makes some boss pancakes but, with the Allison thing…” Derek can see the pieces clicking together in Stiles’ brain, and he remembers his deal with Isaac.

“Stiles,” he warns.

“Really though?” Stiles asks, face incredulous.

“Stiles,” Derek says again. “He doesn’t want anyone to know. It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Stiles asks. “That’s a way easier issue to deal with than him liking Allison. But why has he been hanging out with her then?” He turns to Derek, who keeps a professionally blank face. Stiles drills holes into Derek’s skull with his eyes until the werewolf actually wants to flee, but the teen abandons the effort, thinking he’s getting nowhere. “I’ll figure this out,” he guarantees, and Derek knows he will.

“Whatever,” the werewolf says, returning to his place on the couch where he’s reading the newspaper. Stiles heads to the kitchen and makes a cup of coffee before grabbing the library book from his bag and settling into a comfortable awkwardness in the living room.


	11. Story Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles reads a story and learns some things. Maybe he should pay a little more attention though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can skip this chapter if you want because Stiles gives Derek the sparknotes version in the next chapter. I would recommend reading it though. I thought it was nice. Oh, and there's some weird language. It's supposed to be old time-y.

_ The Girl, the Wolf, and the Tree _

_Long ago, in a small and relatively unknown village, there lived a young maiden. After the death of her father, her family had become quite poor and they often required her to venture into the dark and dangerous wood to forage for food._

_The girl had grown brave over the few months that she strolled about the forest, to the point that when, one day, a wolf with burning red eyes and fur as dark as midnight came to her and demanded she keep out of his woodland, she adamantly declined. The wolf told her not to underestimate him; that he would not hesitate to take her life. The girl did not waiver at his threat. She saw in the wolf’s eyes that he would not kill her._

_The wolf allowed her to leave, and she came back every day, continuing to steal the bounties of his trees. The wolf would stand and watch her, never straying far until she would walk back out of the tree-line to her family’s farm._

_It continued like this for many months, the wolf watching as the young maiden grew into a beautiful woman. The wolf had been alone for some time, and he hoped that this woman could come to love him. But, they had never spoken kindly to one another._

_So, the wolf devised a plan and began to tell the woman stories. He told her of the little wing-ed creatures which no one could see that flew about the forest and made the springtime blossoms more beautiful. He told her of the creatures with bodies like men and legs like horses, who roamed the land and had much pride. There were stories, too, about dark creatures. Women with voices like angels that take men into the lakes and drown them. Large snakes with arms and legs that stole the lives of thieves and assassins as they walked the paths of the forest._

_Though she never spoke to him, the wolf knew that one of the girl’s favorite stories was about a tree. The tree was real and it was hidden deep in the wood. It could only be found by those who it deemed worthy. The wolf had been there only once, when he was just a pup. His mother was friends with the tree, and she spoke to it without words. His mother had brought him along when his pack was being hunted by some creatures who used to be human, but whose hearts had turned cold, metallic like the gears of the clock-towers._

_The wolf was filled with sadness everytime he came to that part of the story, and the woman always gave him a compassionate smile. But then she would leave, regardless of how much food she had gathered. Until, one day, after the wolf reached the end of the story, the woman spoke to the wolf for the first time since she refused to leave the forest. “Wolf,” she called, finding his red eyes in the dark of the trees. “Why dost thou tell me these tales?” When the wolf did not answer, she put down her basket and asked another question. “Do ye love me, Wolf?”_

_“I cannot say that I love you, maiden. You are too fair and gentle to run with a wolf,” he responded._

_The maiden threw off her shawl, letting the autumn air nip at her pale shoulders. “Good wolf, I am not so gentle as thou makest me out to be. If you love me, do not stay thy tongue now, for if ye say nay, or speak not, I shall never return to this wood again.”_

_“Maiden, I do love thee, but I am not so gentle as to keep the company of a woman,” he spoke in truth._

_The woman called back to the wolf, still hidden in the brush. “Oh, Wolf, it is our covers that make us what we art not! I have thrown off my warm fleece and shown that beneath I am wild. Throw off thy fur and be made more tame!”_

_The wolf stepped out from the forest’s dark shroud and threw off his shadowy coat. He arose a man, and the woman came forward to embrace his shivering body. “I know not how to act as a man, fair love. My family would walk between the worlds, but I was never taught.”_

_“’Tis not so necessary as thou would think,” the maid responded. “We will build a house in this wood and stay here together.”_

_“What of thy family?” the wolf-man recalled._

_“I shall bring them what they need, but I shall stay with thee,” she assured._

_And so the pair made a home in the woodlands were they lived happily for many years. The woman bore no children, though for some time they tried. It brought them great sorrow, and the woman would stay silent for great periods of time._

_During one such time of sadness, the woman was wandering about the forest gathering what forage she could find. All at once, she heard a noise behind. She turned, expecting the wolf-man, but, instead found a glistening line of magick. The magick sparkled green and blue, and though she could not touch it, she could see that it led deep into the wood._

_She followed it on a great winding trek until she came upon the great tree for which her town was named. “Good Tree,” the woman called. “Thou hast deemed me worthy?”_

_The tree did not answer, and the woman recalled the stories that her wolf had told her. She placed a hand gently on the bark, which felt smooth and warm beneath her skin. The tree gave her thoughts: it filled her head with images and impressions, consoling her inability to bear a child. The tree lacked the strength it needed to sustain itself, and proposed a solution to both problems. The woman agreed and returned to her home._

_When the wolf-man returned from his hunt, he was surprised at her joyous disposition. She enticed him and they tried once more for a child._

_After many months of gestation, the woman gave birth to a single son. She never tried for another child, knowing the terms of what she had been promised from the Tree. The little family spent many years in happiness, though the boy, like his father, could walk between the worlds of man and animal._

_When the boy was grown, the woman knew it was time to fulfill her end of the bargain. She made a great meal and told her wolf-man and their progeny how she loved them, and in the night, she stole herself away into the dark wood, following the path that the tree illuminated._

_“Great Oak,” she called as it came into sight. “I come to fulfill the debt which thou art owed.” Again, there was no verbal response, but when the woman touched the bark as she had so many years before, a glorious light was released._

_The woman’s youth returned to her features and she felt the magick of the earth and the tree within her being. Though the tree gave no words, the woman understood what she must do. A witch, now, made dark by the deed she was bound to perform, she made trails of beautiful flames that burned blue and green, leading men and stray maidens into the wood to give power to the Oak._

_For so very many years, the tree was sated by the woman’s dutiful labour. The woman became less and less attached to her worldly form, slowly fading into a smoky ether. She glided about the wood, which few wandered into anymore. She spread her flames about until a passerby would follow them to their doom._

_One such wanderer of the forest was a strong, brave man of years beyond that of a mere mortal man, with eyes that burned crimson and hair as black as the forest he roamed. The wisp of a woman lured him in as she had so many others. When he came upon her ethereal form, he cried out a name, but she had already begun to steal his life for the great Tree._

_She glided forward and knelt beside the quickly draining corpse. A faint recognition gleamed in her mind, and the creature lay dying before her spoke one time more in its dying breaths, “Mother, I have found thee.”_

_The ghostly creature wailed and the trees of the forest alit in the blue-green flames. With a rush of air, the dutiful servant was at the Great Oak. “Oh, Tree!” she cried. “What hast I done in thy service? The child which I had by miracle born, is gone at mine own will!”_

_The tree reached out in consolation. It told that there was no method to bring one back from what lies beyond, but it released the grief-stricken from her servitude._

_And from then, the smoking wisp of a woman has ventured through the land, helping those lost souls who are worthy of guidance, and leading astray those who would do wrong._

_Be of sound moral, lest her will take you to your doom._

.oOo.

Stiles snaps the old book shut, eyes wide with comprehension. “Derek,” he says with some urgency. The werewolf had fallen asleep on the other end of the couch some hours ago. Stiles shakes him by the shoulder and says again, “Derek, wake up.”

The werewolf breathes out heavily and blinks his eyes open. “What, Stiles?” he says, a bit annoyed.

He holds up the book and smiles, pleased with himself. “I know what she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is vaguely foreshadowing, btw.


	12. Talking Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Words. (and feels.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I', posting a bunch of chapters without beta'ing them first, so this may get crazy.

“So… What? She’s some sort of witch ghost?” Derek asks, still a little hazy from sleep and trying to follow what Stiles is telling him. Really, it’s a struggle just to keep from falling back asleep.

“No. Yes. Well, sort of,” Stiles says, sitting on the ottoman in front of Derek and trying to explain. “See, it’s this whole story. She’s just a normal girl at first, but then she falls in love with this guy, who I’m like 99.99% sure was an Alpha werewolf, but his whole pack was killed, either by hunters or vampires, I’m not sure, but –“

“There’s no such thing as vampires,” Derek says, cutting Stiles off.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says, waving him off. “You keep saying that, but there’s just as much mythology about them as fairies and werewolves and witches and everything else. Anyways,” he says, getting back to the original story, “she made a deal with what I think must’ve been another Nemeton in Europe. Basically it made her able to have kids and in return, after her son was an adult, she became a witch and sacrificed a bunch of people to the tree. She became less and less human, blah blah blah, and then she accidentally killed her only son, even though he was really super old. Hey, is that a thing? Do werewolves have like, abnormally long lifespans?”

Derek shakes his head, “I’m not exactly sure. I think Alphas are supposed to live longer, and werewolves used to have long lives, but none of us really die of natural causes anymore.” Stiles mind stops racing for just a moment, processing just how much pain Derek must be in thinking about the deaths of almost everyone in his family. He reaches a hand out and puts it on Derek’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, feeling more than a little guilty for having asked. Derek waves him off, prompting him to continue the story. “Ok,” he says significantly slower. “So I think she’s what legend calls the will ‘o the wisp. She may be the only of her kind, but I can’t be sure, seeing as the story isn’t specific about dates and some internet research shows similar supernatural occurrences all around the world.”

“Ok,” Derek sighs, processing. “But what I really want to know is whether or not she’s a threat.” He looks Stiles in the eyes, gauging the response and the gravity of the situation.

“Well,” Stiles trails. “She’s not out and out evil. We knew that from the mountain ash experiment. She is really powerful though, at least, I think she is. She’s got at least a good portion of the power from a Nemeton, and the story says she can draw the life out of people just by looking at them.” Derek arches an eyebrow, Stiles knowing that he’s not answering the question. “I guess, I don’t know. If she’s on our side: not a threat. If she’s against us, well, we’re probably fucked.”

“Great,” Derek groans. “So how do we figure out what side she’s on?” Stiles shrugs, clearly not knowing what to do either. Not that Derek should’ve expected him to. He’s young and relatively inexperienced. It just seems like Stiles is the man with the plan most of the time, even when his plan is to just ride the situation out on pure luck.

“You could just ask her,” Cora says blankly from her position leaning against one of the walls leading into the living room. Stiles flails at the sudden appearance of the other werewolf in the room and Derek reaches an arm out to keep the teen from falling completely onto the floor. “What?” she asks, noting her brother’s uneasy look. “It’s like Stiles said, if she’s with us, great, if not, we’re fucked anyway, so we might as well just ask and get it over with.”

“She’s right,” Stiles says, getting himself resituated on the ottoman. “Do you want to go now?” he asks Derek, voice saying that he doesn’t really feel like facing this at the moment.

The werewolf senses the apprehension and shrugs it off. “You’re dad’ll be home soon and there’s no reason this can’t wait until at least tomorrow.” Stiles nods and Derek senses a bit of conflict in the teen’s breathing. Derek’s about to ask if he’s okay, but he and Cora turn their heads in unison at the familiar sound outside.

“Your dad just got here,” Cora says, heading opening the door as the sheriff comes up the steps.

“I’m never going to get used to the werewolf hearing thing,” Sheriff Stilinski says as he returns the smile Cora greets him with. He comes into the entryway and hangs his coat on the hook next to the door. “What’s for dinner, son?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, his voice somber having forgotten completely to get anything ready. “Let’s just order pizza or something.”

His dad gives him a strange look, kicking off his boots and coming into the living room. “Can we get Chinese?” he asks cautiously.

“Sure,” Stiles says, standing up and forcing himself into a happier mood. “Whatever you want, dad. This can be your cheat day,” he puts a hand on his dad’s shoulder and walks by to pick up his backpack.

The sheriff clears his throat. “Could you two excuse us?” he looks to the two Hales in the room and Derek nods, taking Cora by the arm and pulling her upstairs. “Son,” the sheriff says slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Stiles reassures, though his voice betrays him. His dad doesn’t need to worry about any of this.

“Dammit, Stiles,” the sheriff breathes. “You’re not supposed to be keeping things from me anymore. I’m the parent here. I should be protecting **_you_** from things, not the other way around.”

“Dad, really, it’s nothing,” Stiles says again, making sure to sound more convincing this time.

“Okay,” the sheriff says, sitting down on the couch but locking eyes with his son. “First of all, you never let me have cheat days, let alone order **_Chinese_** food, so I know something is up. Something big. I also know that you were keeping this whole magic business from me.” Stiles is a little upset with Cora for spilling the beans on that one. “But that’s not what this is about, is it.” It’s not even a question really and Stiles sits down next to his dad on the couch.

“No,” he breathes. “I mean, kind of.” His dad is listening, but Stiles knows that this is going to be way too much to understand all at once. But, he has to tell his dad everything otherwise he’ll know that something’s being left out and he won’t stop with the caring and it’ll just make Stiles miserable with guilt. “Okay, so, the thing is, back when you and Scott’s mom and Allison’s dad were all locked up in the cellar, the three of us kind of… well there really wasn’t another way to save you guys, so we had to… we sacrificed ourselves in your place.”

“You what?” his father asks, serious and just barely squelching the anger to keep the conversation rolling. “Stiles, you know that none of us would have **_ever_** asked you to do that.”

“I know, Dad,” Stiles sighs, knowing that his dad is never going to be okay with that information. “But, it’s fine. It’s not like we actually died.”

“But you could have, couldn’t you,” it’s not a question. “And there’s something else, isn’t there?”

Stiles breathes out nervously. Sometimes having the sheriff for a father can be a real pain in the ass. “So, Deaton told us that there would be this lingering darkness. It’s a sort of mark thing that dying as a sacrifice and coming back leaves on a person. I think it has something to do with the way a sacrifice turns life into magic. But that’s beside the point.”

“Stiles, that seems like a pretty big deal to be ‘beside the point,’” his father says, not really noticing that his hand has migrated to his son’s shoulder. Stiles just sits there for a bit not knowing what to say since they’re never going to see eye to eye on the cost/benefit analysis of Stiles’ self-sacrifice. “Okay,” the sheriff eventually says, “keep talking. I need to know everything. I’m sick of being out of the loop.”

Stiles nods and readies himself with another deep breath. “So, I was having nightmares for the two weeks after the whole incident.” His father looks concerned, but Stiles continues, “They’ve stopped recently, sort of. Enough that I can actually sleep. But again, beside the point. Hold your horses, Dad.” The sheriff does his best to keep his questions and protests in check. “So, the librarian who showed up a few months ago, turns out she’s some sort of almost-creature, or maybe a full on creature, but, regardless, she’s definitely powerful. This is the actual point: We don’t know which side she’s on.”

“Okay,” the sheriff says. “So what happens if she’s not working _with_ us?”

“Well,” Stiles says, not at all wanting to continue. “Seeing as I’ve made some sort of connection to the Nemeton, chances are she’ll kill me and anyone who stands between us.” The admission should be incredibly frightening, seeing as it’s Stiles’ life on the line. But, really, he’s just anxious about how his dad will take it.

“Well,” the sheriff breathes. “That’s unfortunate.” Stiles starts to laugh and so does the sheriff. They sit there, laughing to ward of tears for a few moments before they just go quiet. The sheriff pulls out his phone and punches a number into the keypad.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, sniffing some sadness back up into his nostrils.

“You promised me Chinese food,” his dad says, eyes glistening from the not crying.

.oOo.

After dinner, everyone goes to bed. That doesn’t mean they go to sleep, of course. Derek listens as everyone just lays in bed, thinking over everything. It’s getting more real now. The intensity is starting to pick up and soon enough the really bad stuff is going to be here.

He hears Cora lull into sleeping rhythms first. Not long after, the sheriff’s vitals slow to a resting pace as well. Derek waits for Stiles to drift off so he can do his nightly duty, but Stiles is just laying bed, heart racing. He’s probably thinking about all the worst case scenarios. He’s the kind of person that does that.

Derek gets up, quietly so he doesn’t wake his sister. Derek needs to sleep, which means Stiles needs to fall asleep. He goes down the hall the little way to Stiles room and slips through the door, making enough noise so the teen will know he’s coming. “Hey,” Stiles says, hiding his nerves. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, somehow managing to sound concerned about Derek, even though the werewolf doesn’t think it’s genuine.

“Nope,” Derek answers. “Why are you still up?” he asks. Stiles shrugs. “Look,” Derek says, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Everything’s going to be fine.” He can hear the lie in his own voice.

“You don’t actually believe that,” Stiles calls him out. A moment passes and Stiles continues, “Thanks, though. For trying, at least.” They sit there for a few minutes, not really looking at each other.

Stiles mind is still racing a mile a minute. He’s trying to figure out what to tell everyone at school tomorrow. He’s been in life and death situations before, but he’s never had to wait for them to happen. It’s always been spur of the moment. This is so much more stressful.

Derek doesn’t really think about anything. He’s just listening to Stiles’ heart. It’s fast, but it’s regular. It always is. Even when Stiles is lying, his heartbeat changes only slightly. Most people’s hearts bounce all over the place, but not his. It changes slowly from one pace to another, though it’s rarely slow.

After about seven or eight minutes of silent not looking at each other, Derek moves to leave. “Do you,” Stiles blurts but cuts himself off. Derek stops and looks at him. “I mean. Do you, maybe, want to, uh…?” Derek smirks a little and lifts up the covers, getting in the relatively small bed. “Oh my god,” Stiles breathes. “Thank you for not making me finish that sentence.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says. He lies still not actually touching the teen. Sure, eventually they end up wound together, but he’s not going to rush things. This could be just for the night.


	13. Your High School Is Showing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's immune to high school drama. Except maybe Derek.

Derek wakes slowly in the morning, remembering where he is. He takes stock of his body, pressed tightly against Stiles’ back with both arms wrapped tightly around the teen’s waist and his head nestled between the other’s shoulder blades. He rubs his face gently against Stiles’ soft skin, taking a full breath of the sweet scent. Stiles writhes slightly under Derek’s grip and he can feel the spell-weaver coming to lucidity.

“Morning,” Stiles breathes.

“Morning.” His voice is vaguely muffled as he speaks into the body in front of him.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Thanks,” he says and Derek is confused. “For, ya know. This.” Stiles definitely wouldn’t have slept last night if Derek hadn’t come and stayed with him. He just couldn’t be alone with his thoughts. Stiles knows this is probably just a pack thing. Something that Derek’s doing because it makes everyone safer in the long run. They’ve been on actually good terms lately, but he’s always felt that Derek would be there when it was absolutely necessary.

“Stiles,” Derek starts, about to tell Stiles that it really wasn’t that big of a burden. That he actually wants to be there. But, he’s cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps up the stairs. His ears perk as he realizes who’s coming. “Shit,” he breathes, pushing off the side of the bed onto the floor and quickly rolling underneath the furniture.

Sheriff Stilinski knocks lightly once before opening the door to Stiles’ bedroom. “Hey, son,” he greets. “You should probably get up and ready for school.” Stiles quickly understands what just happened and nods quickly to his father. “Something wrong?” the sheriff asks, noting his son’s change in expression.

“Nope,” Stiles says, purposefully slow and calm. “Just getting out of my sleep brain.” Stiles points to his head in mock anger at how slow he’s being. The sheriff shrugs it off and closes the door, heading back downstairs. “Oh my god,” Stiles breathes as Derek comes up from where he was hidden. Derek gives a serious eyebrow arch and Stiles stifles a chuckle. “It’s a good thing you have that super hearing of yours or I might actually be dead of embarrassment.”

“Yeah,” Derek mocks, “ _you_ would be embarrassed. He would’ve actually killed me.” He recalls the sheriff’s earlier threat and his heartbeat races.

“Pssh,” Stiles deflects. “Me and Scott have heteronormative cuddling all the time. It only would’ve been embarrassing because it was with you.” The werewolf gives him a look that Stiles reads as confused, offended, and maybe a little, hurt? “No, no,” he corrects. “I mean, not that bro snuggling with you is embarrassing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not exactly something I’m about to broadcast to the world, I just… Well, ya know. You’re you. You don’t, do,” Stiles gestures to the bed. “Probably unless you, like, _like_ people. Which, don’t take this the wrong way, but… yeah. So… But, you know, you can do it again if you want. I wouldn’t mind. But I don’t want to pressure you. It’s not like I can’t just call Scott or something. I’m just going to stop talking now.” Stiles’ heart rate had gradually picked up to the point where Derek might confuse him with a humming bird.

The werewolf shakes his head, this time actually a combination of holding back laughter, teenagers being dumb, Stiles being weird, and a touch of self-deprecation. Stiles notes the new gesture and adds it to the list. The next available number is #69. That’s not going to work. Derek breaks the teen’s focus by throwing a pair of jeans at him and walking out of the room.

.oOo.

Scott and Isaac swing by the Stilinski’s to pick up Stiles, sparing him the awkward ride that he would have had with Derek. “Hey, Scott,” he greets, climbing in the back of the sedan. “Isaac,” he grins knowingly. The Beta’s eyes go wide as he quickly glances at Scott, whose eyes are on the road, and then back to Stiles with a threatening ‘say nothing’ look. Stiles raises a taunting eyebrow at him, not afraid of the Beta and what little wrath he may be able to throw the spell-weaving teen. Isaac throws in a pair of ‘ _please?_ ’ puppy dog eyes, rivaling those of Scott himself, prompting Stiles to wave him off and drop it. “How goes it with Allison?” he asks his best friend, only taking cursory notice of Isaac’s increasing anxiety.

Scott lets out a sigh. “I don’t know, dude,” he laments as they round a corner. “She’s talking to me again, so that’s good,” Stiles can hear a ‘but’ coming. “But, ya know, she’s not actually _talking_ to me. Which sucks because I’ve been thinking about her so much and I can barely even sleep.” That catches the non-wolf’s ear.

“Wait,” Stiles interjects. “Why _exactly_ have you not been sleeping well?” Scott shrugs his shoulders, clearly not having put a lot of thought into it. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Probably just teenage egocentrism. And lack of sleep on his own part. “Have you been having any… Nightmares?”

“Not really,” Scott answers truthfully. “I just don’t feel good when I sleep, so I wake up all the time.” Stiles thinks over that. If Scott’s not having nightmares, it could just be because he’s a werewolf. He makes a mental note to ask Allison later, just before Scott takes his eyes from the road for a moment to ask the question that Stiles should have known was coming. “Why? Have you?”

“Nope.” _What?_ _There’s no reason to worry him_. They’ve been fading of late anyways. “Just wondering. Seeing as you’re the Alpha and all and that may have been some sort of sign.” Scott nods in agreement with his friend’s logic, but Isaac gives the non-wolf a longer interrogative gaze before they all go quiet for the rest of the ride.

.oOo.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Stiles waves, dismissing a group of his non-pack friends as he heads to lunch. Taking a quick glance across the hall, he changes directions and strides over. “Hey, Allison,” he greets, gripping the strap of his backpack to ease some of his nerves.

“Hey, Stiles,” she returns, smile still sweet but perhaps a bit weak. She hasn’t had as much practice as Lydia or some of the others. “What’s up?” she asks turning back to the items she’s shuffling around her locker.

“Well,” he starts, not wanting to give up his nightmare secret if possible but also needing to get the information. “I was just wondering… I was talking to Scott earlier and –“

She cuts him off with a finger. “I know you’ve played go-between for us before, and I appreciate the effort and the fact that you two are best friends, but I just really can’t be with him right now. And it’s not just a him thing: it’s a me thing. I don’t want to be with anyone right now.”

Stiles’ mouth is still open from being cut off, so he snaps it shut, takes a breath, and recomposes himself. “Cool. That’s not what I came here to talk to you about, though.”

“Oh,” Allison breathes, taking on a more than slightly embarrassed posture. “Well, that’s awkward then.”

Stiles laughs a little breathy thing, effectively lightening the situation. “It’s all good,” he smiles. “What I was going to say is that Scott hasn’t been sleeping well since,” he takes a cursory glance around and lowers his voice, “the whole sacrifice thing. And, I really hadn’t been either, so I just wanted to check in on you. How’ve you been sleeping?”

Allison sighs and nods her head, happy to not make a big deal of her accidental overshare. “Well, it hasn’t been great. There’s this… feeling. In my chest. I think it’s the darkness that Deaton was talking about when he warned us about the dangers of what we did. I mean, I can still sleep some, it’s just not as restful as usual.”

Stiles nods, happy to hear that she’s not being completely sleep-deprived. “So, um, have there been any, like, nightmares or anything like that?” he gulps, not sure exactly what he’s hoping to hear.

She seems to mull over the thought for a moment, making that face that people make when they’re trying to remember what they wrote on their shopping list or had for breakfast. “No, I mean, not more than the one or two random hunting nightmares. Why? Are you having them?”

He lets out a relieved sigh but has to decide how to handle this. “Nope, I’m all clear,” he lies through his teeth. “I was just worried about the three of us because of what happened after Lydia’s whole experience with not-death and whatnot.”

The huntress gives him a sideways look. “You can’t lie to me, Stiles,” she says seriously. “If you’re having nightmares you need to talk to someone.”

“Yeah, I know,” he brushes it off. Taking on a more serious tone to assuage her concerns, he explains, “I told Derek and my dad knows now, too.” He thinks it’s a little weird that Derek was the first to know, but it just kind of happened that way, so he guesses that it’s whatever.

“Hey, guys,” Isaac says, walking over to greet them on his way down the hall to the lunchroom. While he and Allison talk, Stiles notes the dynamic between the two. Even though he knows that Isaac likes Scott, there’s still that strange energy between the pair that makes him think that there’s a spark. But that can’t be right. That would mean that Isaac likes… _both of them_.

Stiles’ eyes widen slightly as he looks at the Beta. Isaac notices and tries not to freak out while he keeps talking to the girl. “What’s up, bitches?” Lydia calls as she joins their little impromptu pre-lunch hall party. Allison rolls her eyes at her friend and they start jabbering, giving the two boys the opportunity to have a more private conversation.

“Dude,” Stiles starts. “Really? You couldn’t just want one? What, did you confuse them with Lay’s potato chips?”

Isaac wags his head and has a worried, threatening, pleading, angry, embarrassed look on his face that is, honestly, kind of tiring to look at. “You tell no one.” Stiles shrugs, it not really being on the top of his list of important things at the moment. “Stiles,” the Beta calls his attention. “Please, I don’t know what to do and I don’t want either of them to freak out or anything.”

Stiles shrugs again. Seriously, how do they all still worry about standard high school drama when there are dangerous supernatural forces looming over their entire town about to rain down chaos? “I’m not going to tell anyone, calm down.” The Beta drops the majority of the worry from his expression. “It is a bit weird, though,” Stiles blurts as a side comment, just to get on the other teen’s nerves.

“Oh, please,” Isaac says, maybe just a little too loud. “Not as weird as you and Derek sharing a bed.” Stiles’ eyes go wide, as do both of the girls’. “Oh, shit,” Isaac breathes, trying to back away from the situation.

“What?” Lydia asks, perhaps a bit shocked. “You? And _Derek?_ ” Her eyes and mouth are already curling up around the edges with entertainment.

“No,” Stiles says quickly waving a hand and making the face that says it’s all just a big misunderstanding. Because it is. Right? “It was just bro cuddling,” he defends. “Scott and I do it all the time.” Lydia legit gets the giggles, but Allison gets a bit of a confused look and Isaac’s face is unreadable. “Screw you guys,” he says, throwing up the ‘fuck this shit, I’m done’ hands and turning on his heel to walk to lunch.

.oOo.

“Hey,” Derek says softly as Stiles slides into the passenger seat of his range rover after school. “Ready to go to the library?”

“Yeah,” he returns grumpily, slinging his backpack into the backseat and slamming the door with perhaps a bit excessive force. His face screams frustration, and Derek’s more than a little confused.

“What’s up?” the werewolf asks, not really knowing why the teen in his passenger seat is forgoing nervousness at a pending life or death situation for apparent teenage angst and frustration. Oh, wait: he’s a teenager. Derek tends to forget how weird they can be.

“Nothing,” Stiles responds flatly. Derek shrugs it off as a victory for his ears and thin line of patience, shifting into gear and heading out of the high school parking lot. “Everyone knows we slept together,” Stiles blurts, and the werewolf’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead as he tries not to respond by laughing or growling.

“We didn’t sleep together,” Derek says, recomposing his face and grip on the steering wheel and controlling his tone expertly.

Stiles shakes his head, “No, I know that. I don’t mean that they know we _slept_ together. Ew, anyways,” he sticks out his tongue and makes a disgusted face that makes Derek feel hollow. “They know that we bro cuddled or whatever.” The teen sighs loudly and slumps back in his seat.

“Wait,” the former Alpha questions. “If they know it was just _bro cuddling_ ,” it actually sounds painful for him to use the words, “then why is it a big deal?”

The spell-weaving teen looks at him like he’s the dumbest person in the world. “Because, Derek. Just because.” That sounded better in his head.

“That’s not even an actual reason,” Derek breathes, shaking his head. “But,” he interjects, “why are we even talking about this right now? We’re going to see Alex.” They’re actually only a minute or so from the library now, and the werewolf really thinks they should be mentally preparing themselves for the worst.

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasps, coming to a realization. “I was getting all down on Isaac for worrying about his high school drama and then I totally got so caught up in mine that I forgot to tell everyone goodbye just in case.” The teen’s expression is mortified as they pull into the small, empty library parking lot. His breathing suddenly increases, and, for the first time that Derek’s ever heard, his heartbeat leaps up suddenly. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

The werewolf takes off his seat belt and turns to face the panicking teen. “Stiles,” he says firmly, but he doesn’t respond. “Stiles,” he says more forcefully, placing a hand on the back of the other’s neck and turning his face so they’re eye to eye. “You need to calm down.”

Stiles shakes his head as he struggles to get the air to form words. “I-“ he stutters. “I… I can’t.” Gasping, he claws at the seat belt restraint.

“Stiles,” Derek practically growls, though his tone still somehow seems to be comforting. “You have to calm down. I think you’re having a panic attack.” Even as he’s full on flipping out, Stiles gives him the ‘no shit, Sherlock’ look, just because that’s who he is.

The teen begins to force out words again. “Last… Last time…” he pauses briefly to wheeze out a few small sounds that Derek figures must be laughter, and then gathers the rest of his breath to finish. “Lydia… Lydia kissed… kissed me.” The werewolf can tell it’s mostly a joke, and he’s both proud of Stiles for being this stubborn about being himself and really pissed that he’s not taking this seriously and calming down.

“Sorry, bud,” Derek says, opening his door. “Not happening.” He gets out of the car and heads around to open the passenger door. He reaches over his panicking companion and undoes his seatbelt. “Okay, Stiles,” they make eye contact so he’s sure he’s being heard. “You’re panicking because you’re worried about what’s going to happen, but you’re going to be fine.” It’s a lie, in a way. They both know that they don’t actually have a clue what they’re walking into. But, it’s comforting nonetheless. “Okay,” Derek says, noting that Stiles still isn’t calming down. “Come here,” he holds his arms open and beckons him forward. He shifts a bit and sort of just crumples into the werewolf, who pulls him tight into a hug, breathing slowly as a metronome. The warm, safe pressure makes Stiles feel like he’s hidden and protected, and he can feel the panic start to melt off of him. After what must be a few minutes, Derek thinks that the teen is sufficiently decompressed, and he lets him out of the bear hug. “Good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Ready?” he questions, tipping his head toward the door. Derek nods, placing a hand firmly on Stiles’ back as they head toward the library, which is somehow managing to look incredibly menacing with its flat roof, faded bricks, and dirty windows on the backdrop of a calm blue sky.

But, like they always say: it’s what’s inside that counts.


End file.
